Enigma in Introversion

I’m a bit of an enigma, even to myself.

Here I sit, contemplating the strange contradiction of my mind, while waiting for another hour to pass so we can get this event over with. No, not the contemplation, but the wedding event. I’m in Tampa. It’s raining, thundering too, and that’s today’s saving grace. I love a powerful storm, and I hate weddings.

Yes, the author who writes happily ever after over and over again hates weddings. Maybe hate is too strong of a word you may think, but let’s face it, the bride will never read this, and besides, it’s not her fault. She’s a wonderful girl, and she’s got a great family, both by birth and, soon, by marriage. I’m happy for her — I am — but I’d rather stay in the hotel tonight.

It’s me. It may be the start of their happily ever after, but it’s also a party. A party with a lot of people. A party with a lot of people I don’t know. A party with a lot of people I don’t know being loud and drunk and social. I could keep going but I think you get the idea. It’s all well and good to celebrate a marriage, and it’s a perfect milestone to what should be many years of love and happiness — their own happily ever after — but as a world-class introvert, I dread the celebration.

Maybe I’m not really an enigma, but I like the word. Enigma. It’ll give me something to think about when I retreat from the inundation of stimulation within the wild celebration of romance and happiness. Happily ever after. I wonder if the best man needs one with that twink usher?

I could cut you off with a shoulder of stone
Smoke all night and leave the party alone
Screw myself with an inscrutable pout
But I just want you to come figure me out

I don’t want to be another mystery, oh no
I don’t want to see who’s looking at me, oh no

~Dar Williams, Another Mystery


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