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Escaping the curtain of shyness

As I got ready for my high school reunion last weekend, one of my dear friends, whom I’ve known since elementary school

As I got ready for my high school reunion last weekend, one of my dear friends, whom I’ve known since elementary school, texted me saying that she’d pick me up at the Holiday Inn where I was staying in North Vancouver.

“I’m going casual as usual,” Deneen warned about her attire.

“I’ll be overdressed, but I don’t care,” I replied. “I’m always over something.”

When she arrived, looking gorgeous in jeans and a black tank top, I figured everyone else would dress casual for the pub event as well, and I thought about changing out of my long summer dress.

I didn’t though. I decided to go as-is and not worry about trying to fit in like I would have back in 1984. I had matured into someone confident enough to wear what I wanted to wear no matter what everyone else had on.

Or had I? Walking into that room full of people who I had graduated with at Seycove Secondary School 30 years earlier had me feeling like the painfully shy, insecure 17-year-old I once was. I immediately headed for the bar.

I imagined a few cocktails would help me relax and feel more like myself again, but for some reason my self-conscious high school persona had completely taken over.

“You’re kidding me,” one of my more recent friends said when I told her of the experience the next day. “I thought you’d be the life of the party!”

“Not even close,” I said. “It was as if I’d stepped into a time machine and I was the timid wallflower at the school dance again.”

The reason why still escapes me.

As a tween and teen I was full of anxiety and insecurities, and given my home life at the time, I understand that becoming anti-social was my way of coping. But I came out of my shell decades ago and wondered why I’d revert back to feeling like I used to so quickly.

As the mother of a 13-year-old son and a 10-year-old daughter, I’ve always shared with them my experience of being an extreme introvert in my adolescence, and encouraged them not to be like I was. I never wanted them to miss out on experiences and potential friendships like I did during that awkward time.

But here I was doing exactly what I told them not to do – being shy.

Despite feeling my confidence leave me at the door, I still managed to act social and talk to some lovely people. Often it was for the very first time.

“If you could relive high school all over again, what would you do differently?” one of them asked.

“I wouldn’t let what others thought of me hold me back or repress my personality,” I said, after thinking about it for a few seconds. “I’d let them snicker, gossip or ignore me if that’s what they chose to do, but I wouldn’t let it affect me like I did when I was in school.”

I’m not sure how many people from my grad class were secure enough to live that philosophy back when we were students, but I believe the kids who were more oblivious to peer pres­sure and judgment had a better head start in life.

I, on the other hand, was a late bloomer and didn’t start trying to live that way until I was in my 40s.

I now remind myself whenever I need to hear it that life is too short to worry about what others think of us.

The night of my 30th high school reunion was one of those times I needed that reminder. Luckily I didn’t have too many cocktails and stuck around long enough to finally remember. Next time I’ll write it on my hand so I don’t forget.

Lori Welbourne is a syndicated columnist. She can be contacted at www.LoriWelbourne.com.