Jessica Pan - Sorry I’m Late, I Didn’t Want to Come: One Introvert’s Year of Saying Yes

Also by Jessica Pan, with Rachel Kapelke-Dale

Graduates in Wonderland

For Ian

W i n

Contents

Authors Note

Lets be clear: I dont think anybodyintrovert, extrovert, or otherwiseneeds to be cured. But I was, for a while, an unhappy introvert, and I wanted to see how my life might change if I spent a year undertaking daunting new experiences. This book is about what happened next. Please enjoy my nightmares.

Introduction

There are two types of people in this world. Those who watch Glastonbury (the largest music festival in the UKand the worldjam-packed full of hundreds of thousands of people) on TV from afar as though its a horror movie. They peer over the top of the blanket as they bear witness to the muddy hellhole. They sigh from relief at the sheer joy of missing out, because they are so happy to be on their sofas and not there, surrounded by thousands of swaying, loud, drunk people with full bladders and greasy hair.

And then there are those who choose to go to Glastonbury. I am not one of those people.

My friends at college threw me a surprise party for my twenty-second birthday. As soon as everyone jumped out of the dark, I burst into tears. People at the party thought I was touched. Actually, I was horrified. For the first time in months, the tears werent because I was in unrequited love with my Spanish language tutor. Good friends, family, and some vague acquaintances were sitting on my bedwhich was incidentally the very place I usually went to escape from those good friends, family, and vague acquaintances.

I had nowhere to hide. They were here for a party. How long until they left?

Eventually, I just turned on all the lights and waited for everyone to take the hint.

If youre like me, then you, too, know what it feels like to dread your own birthday parties. You fear giving speeches, team bonding exercises, and every single New Years Eve.

I feel this way because Im an introvert. Actually, Im a shy introvert (more on this later), and any shy introvert worth their salt has invariably done the following: thrown a ringing phone across the room, faked being sick, walked into a networking event and immediately backed out, and pretended not to speak English when approached in a bar. That last one is advanced level but the most effective method of all. The rest are necessary survival skills. We are also gifted at avoiding eye contact to deter people from saying hello with a technique I like to call dead robot eyes.

I would say 90 percent of my acquaintances dont even know that Im an introvert because I take such pains to hide it. After-work drinks? Sorry, Im very busy. Lunch at the deli? Cant, I have plans (eating ramen alone in blissful solitude). Coworkers just think that inside the office Im distracted and that outside the office I have both a full social calendar and debilitating face blindness.

Now that Im older and wiser, on the morning of every birthday, I gently wake up my husband, Sam, and whisper in his ear, If you throw me a party, I will murder you. He always nods obligingly, half asleep. Except he doesnt really get it, because hes a different breed altogethera quiet person who likes going to a busy pub and hanging out at festivals. But hes grown used to most of our nights out ending with my hissing, Get my coat and meet me by the elevators! while I sprint toward the back exit to escape an approaching tipsy bachelorette party that has just arrived at the bar.

Sam goes along with it, but the depths of my neuroses are a foreign country to him. He doesnt understand why, for example, I prefer dogs to people. But thats easy. Dogs dont require small talk, they dont judge you, and they dont hum near your desk while youre trying to work. They dont ask when youre going to have kids. Or cough on you. But to Sam, dogs have wild eyes, might put their dirty paws all over you, and are ready to strike at any moment, which is exactly how I feel about humans.

I assumed that life as a shy introvert would go on this way for me forever. But then, something unusual happened: I found myself roasting in a sauna, clutching a copy of Mens Health , wearing a full-length black tracksuit, and weeping as I yelled profanities at a spa employee.

And something had to change.

Thats the short version.

Some people are great at talking to strangers, building new relationships, and making friends at parties. Im really good at other things, like loitering palely in dark doorways. Disappearing into couch corners. Leaving early. Feigning sleep on public transportation.

Nearly a third of the population (at least, depending on which study you consult) identify as introverts, so its likely that this could describe you, too. If wed, say, met at a party that neither of us had flaked on, we could bond over this while hiding in the kitchen near the cheese board.

There are a lot of heated debates about what defines an introvert or an extrovert. The main accepted definition is that introverts get their energy from being alone, whereas extroverts get their energy from being around other people. But psychologists often discuss two other related parameters: shy versus outgoing. I always assumed that all introverts were shy, but apparently some introverts can be ultraconfident in groups or capable of smoothly delivering presentations. What makes them introverts is that they just cant take stimulation and large crowds for extended periods of time.

And I am shy: Im afraid of making contact with strangers and being the center of attention, but I also need time to recharge after being around a lot of people and loathe large crowds. I am, as one article defined it, a socially awkward introvert. A shy introvert, or shintrovert , as I shall henceforth refer to myself (which is also a pervert who is very into lower legs).

I dont know whether shintroverts are born or made, but for me, my tendencies began to show very early on. I grew up in a small town in Texas where I skipped birthday parties, faked illnesses to avoid school presentations, and spent many nights journaling about a parallel universe where interacting with multiple people and occasionally being the center of attention werent my worst nightmare.

As a kid, I didnt understand why I felt so differently about life from my extroverted immediate family. My father is Chinese, and my mother is Jewish American, and they both love two things deeply: Chinese food and chatting with new people. Meanwhile, my two older brothers were always inviting big groups of their friends over to our house, where theyd linger for hours. I originally thought they were all just better at pretending to like the things I hated. Later, I was confounded: why did they love meeting big groups of new people and socializing for hours and throwing big birthday parties when I didnt? I thought that there was something deeply wrong with me.

Still, growing up in a small town, I dreamed of a bigger life full of new experiences. But it wasnt a life I could envisage for myself there. I wanted an entirely clean slate. A new place where I could reinvent myself, free from anyone who knew me. I tried Beijing, then Australia, and eventually London, where I live now.

But one thing remained constant during these travels: no matter how far-flung the lands, I remained essentially the same. A shintrovert. Dumplings, shrimp on the barbie, scones and cream. Shintrovert eating in the corner. The Forbidden City, Sydney Opera House, Tower of London. Shintrovert hovering in doorways. Id thought that maybe foreign lands would shake the introversion out of me, but, like my eczema, it thrived in all climates.