Last Friday night, when I was in Philadelphia for a conference, I took myself to a bar to sing karaoke. Then, on Saturday night, I took myself to a different bar to sing different (live band!) karaoke. It’s the first time — two times — that I’ve ever gone to karaoke by myself.
I’ve gone to restaurants solo during reporting trips, and have gone to bars alone a couple of times, mostly to escape my children. This was A Whole New Level.
Despite the fact that I came down with a nasty virus on Tuesday that may or may not have been linked to spending hours in crowded rooms surrounded by people shriek-screaming, I will absolutely do it again. (I refuse to blame the karaoke. It was DEFINITELY the conference.)
I want to disavow you of the notion that I’m an extrovert who likes meeting people and being tossed into novel social situations. I am literally the opposite. I’m a socially anxious introvert and I hate nothing more than walking into a room in which I know no one.
So yeah. I was anxious before I went. And I kept trying to talk myself out of it. Especially on Saturday, since I was still tired from my excursion the night before. I was so indecisive I even posted an Instagram poll asking whether or not I should go. (72 percent of viewers told me yes.)
I ended up going not because I was told to, but because I realized I couldn’t not go. It’s so rare that I get to set my own agenda. It’s so rare that I get to decide exactly what I’m doing and when and for how long. I wanted to take advantage of my weekend of freedom and do something I love. (And singing with a live band is, frankly, not to be missed. I haven’t done it since I was 27. If you enjoy karaoke and live in or around Philly, go to Fergie’s Pub on a Friday or Saturday; you won’t regret it.)
Turning 45 has also made me more ambitious about making time and opportunities for myself. I often lament that I don’t get to do karaoke as much as I would like. So when the opportunity presented itself, I was going to take it, dammit, even if it meant I’d be half dead the next morning. I’m often tired in service of others; why not get tired in the service of myself? Why does it feel like a less worthwhile choice if it’s just for me? Why isn’t it a more worthwhile choice if it’s for me?
Some of my Instagram followers DMed to me asking me to share what it was like and how I got up the courage to do it. Let me tell you, it was a process.
