The joy of cancelled plans

A car pulled up and parked just in front of our house. A woman got out carrying what looked liked a large apple pie. Can you imagine my disappointment when she didn't come into our house went instead but to a neighbour's? The fact that I didn't know her was neither here nor there; she had wafted fruit pie in front of me only to waft it away again, much like yesterday's rugby victory that never was.

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Over the last months on most Sunday mornings I've been 'going' to my old church, Linden. And I've been enjoying it, on the whole. When I left I never intended to actually leave but take time out to concentrate on Zac's, but my letter to the church leaders was misinterpreted as me leaving so I decided I might as well.

It was never the church as such that I was frustrated with but rather one or two individuals, and that was probably as much my fault as theirs. Anyway I've enjoyed being back for the zoom meetings. The only time I feel uncomfortable is when people say how much they're longing to get back to proper meetings, to being together in the same room. 

Over on her blog Debra did a post recently on Why Introverts Thrive in Lockdown. If I ever thought about it I would describe myself as an introvert but seeing Debra's post convinced me. Is there anything better than having plans cancelled?

I love the idea of being a social sort of person and I like getting invitations. I even accept quite willingly, happy to be have been thought of and included. It's only when I think about what I've accepted that it sinks in: I'll have to go out, dress up, talk to people. Hence cancelled (by other people) plans are the best of both worlds. If you cancel yourself you just look like a miserable old body but if for unavoidable reasons the event is called off, well, it's party time as far as I'm concerned.

And this is why I am not eagerly anticipating the return to 'normal' Sunday morning meetings. Hanging around at the end, feeling like a spare part, wondering if there's anyone who isn't yet engaged in conversation who might be happy to talk to me, wondering how long I have to stay to not be considered unfriendly - as if anyone would notice, pretending that there's something I have to do in order to give me an excuse to wander around and not look so much like a spare part. 

Understand I'm not blaming these things on other people: it's all on me. And I don't have the same problems in Zac's. I suppose I feel more comfortable amongst the oddbods, the ones who don't fit in.