It’s such a strange feeling, reintroducing myself to life in the neon lights, but sober this time.
The bars, the clubs, the events. They’re all still here. The same neon nights and crowded rooms. But I’m not here to throw away the life I’ve been given again. I’m showing up differently now. The lens I get to look through has changed. The way I feel things, see things. It’s all different.
I used to tell myself I was an anxious person. That I had social anxiety. That I couldn’t function in crowds unless I was on duty or on the clock. Same story with dancing. I used to swear I couldn’t unless I was drinking.
There are so many of these stories I told myself so often, they became my truths. And once something becomes your truth, it feels permanent. But here’s the thing…
Change the story, and you change the truth.
The brain is wild like that. Say something enough and you believe it. Believe it long enough, and it becomes law. But say something new, say it enough times, and that becomes law, too.
I’m not socially anxious. I’m not shy. I just used to lean on bad habits to break the ice. But now? I’ve got tools. And it turns out, I’ll talk just about anyone’s ear off when I feel safe. The real truth is: I’m learning how to be a better conversationalist. I’m learning how to listen more, ask more, give space for other people’s stories.
Somewhere along the way, I adopted this weird idea that asking people personal questions would be rude, like if someone had something to share, they would. But that’s not how connection works. I love being asked follow-up questions. I love getting into the good stuff with people. So why wouldn’t others?
So I’m learning to make space.
And no, it’s not that I CAN’T dance without being under the influence. It’s that I’m not a confident dancer yet. But I’m learning.
And let me tell you, West Coast line dancing is no joke. These folks are serious about it. But they’re also serious about community, about curiosity. I was taken under so many wings, shown so much grace. And I had a blast. I made a fool of myself and didn’t care one bit. Not about what I looked like, not about who was watching. Just joy. Just movement.
Making friends? Also not the terrifying feat I thought it was. All it takes is conversation, a little courage, and shared values. That’s it.
The longer story (and trust me, I could go on), is that I’m rediscovering what’s true and throwing out the scripts that don’t serve me anymore.
And the peace that comes with that?
It makes sense now.
It’s the best thing I can do for myself right now.
So here’s to the new stories we create.
To the truths we get to rewrite.
To showing up, even when it’s awkward.
Even when it’s hard.
Even when the old story is still whispering in the background.
I hear it.
But I don’t have to listen.
Here’s to becoming.