Confessions of a Recovering Serial Sly 🌚

If you ask my friends, I am not the kind of friend you invite out.

Do not get me wrong, when I am out, I am usually the life of the party. I crack jokes, start conversations and make sure everyone is having a good time. The issue is getting me there in the first place. Unless it is a birthday, a major occasion, or I have reached the point where I genuinely miss hanging out with my friends, you will rarely catch me at a groove.

Some people suffer from FOMO. I suffer from ROMO - Relief of Missing Out.

I like to think of myself as a woman of integrity. If I commit to something, I follow through. Unfortunately, following through often feels like I am being escorted to my execution. The hours leading up to any outing usually involve an intense internal motivational speech. I remind myself that I love my friends; that human interaction is healthy, that it is a chance to dress up and look pretty. Unfortunately, this method is not foolproof. Sometimes, I sly.

Back when I had ulcers, an ulcer attack was my favourite excuse. It was effective, believable and required very little questioning. Since my miraculous recovery, I have had to become more creative. My friends, on the other hand, are perpetually outside, and truly, I love that for them. I enjoy experiencing life through their Instagram reels, Snapchat streaks, photo dumps and status updates. Their adventures bring me genuine joy from the comfort of my bed. I love seeing their outside personalities, but if I am being truthful, I have always preferred being the home they return to rather than the person standing beside them in the crowd.

Recently, I attended a concert, and it was incredible. I danced so hard that I lost an earring, found it, lost it again, then somehow found it a second time. At that point, I considered it a sign that I was exactly where I was supposed to be. I had an amazing time, but if left entirely to my own devices, I would not have been there.

The concert was organised by a good friend of mine. I had seen him post about it several times, but I scrolled past every announcement with the confidence of someone who had absolutely no intention of attending. Eventually, he sent it to me directly and asked me to buy a ticket. I gave one of those flippant responses that feels harmless when you send it, but lands very differently when it is received. A few days before the concert, the topic came up again, and he told me how my response made him feel. I apologised immediately because the last thing I would ever want is for someone I care about to feel unsupported by me. When he later offered me complimentary tickets, I knew I had to show up.

Partly because I wanted to make things right.

Mostly because I realised it mattered to him.

The concert was phenomenal. The performances were amazing. The atmosphere was electric. The crowd was alive. Yet none of those was my highlight.

My highlight was the moment he saw me. His face lit up like a Christmas tree decorated with twinkling lights in an area where Band A was not a thing. It was not the polite smile people give when they unexpectedly run into someone they know. It was genuine excitement. The kind that reaches the eyes before it reaches the mouth. He was busy, running around and managing a million things at once. Yet every time he passed my section, there was some sort of acknowledgement. A smile. A quick stroke on my face. Something that said, "I am glad you came”. That convicted me.

In that moment, I realised this man rated me far more highly than I had realised. I mean, I came to a concert. I did not donate a kidney. I did not rescue the Oyo children, as much as I wish I could. I simply left my house, yet his happiness at seeing me felt wildly disproportionate to the effort it had taken me to attend. Then I started thinking.

How many people have I deprived of that same joy because I did not show up when they asked me to? How many invitations have I brushed aside because I assumed my attendance would not make a difference? How many birthdays, launches, weddings, celebrations, performances and random invitations have I declined because staying home felt easier? How many people had wanted me there specifically? Not a body in the room. Not another name on the guest list. Me.

The thing about being perpetually indoors is that you start to believe nobody notices your absence. You convince yourself that the event will go on without you, and to be fair, it will.

The cake will still be cut.

The event will still start.

The concert will still happen.

The pictures will still be taken.

Life will move on.

But every now and then, someone is scanning the crowd looking for your face. Someone is hoping you will be in those pictures. Someone has attached more value to your presence than you ever realised. We assume people will understand, and often they do. However, understanding does not mean they would not have preferred our presence.

Not all invitations are courtesy gestures. Sometimes people are not asking for our money, expertise, solutions or advice. Sometimes they are simply asking for us. Our face in the room. Our laughter in the crowd. Our presence in a moment that matters to them. Not because they need an extra body to fill a seat. Not because they are sending mass invitations. Because they simply want us there.

Of course, this is not a call to abandon your boundaries and become a full-time social butterfly. If anything, I still plan to spend a healthy amount of time in my bed trying to smash my reading goals. However, my recent unfortunate discovery is that showing up is a form of love. So perhaps the next time someone asks me to come somewhere, I will pause before automatically saying no. Maybe now and then, I will say yes and actually follow through.

Sometimes, love looks like attendance.