I’ve pretty much come to accept by now that I don’t really “do” big social occasions. And by this I mean that I generally don’t have a lot of desire to “go out” in the sense that people tend to use the non-specific phrase “go out” — that is to say, going to a pub, sitting and drinking and not really doing anything interesting or exciting.

It was my work Christmas meal this evening. Andie and I both went along and we had an enjoyable time. The food was very nice, the home-made cakes for dessert were frankly ridiculous in size (the entire cake was literally the size of an average human head, and a single slice offered roughly as much “cake” as you would get in about ten normal-sized slices anywhere else) and the entertainments laid on by two of my colleagues, who had clearly spent a significant amount of time planning the evening together, were fun.

Once all that finished, though, and we were into the “freeform” part of the evening — the part where you’re supposed to lounge around, sip your drink and make small talk with the people around you — I felt absolutely no desire to stick around whatsoever, and neither did Andie, so we made our excuses, headed back home and were safely in our own house with the heating on well before 9pm.

I’ll hasten to add at this point that our lack of desire to stick around for the “freeform socialising” that follows more organised and/or structured fun was nothing to do with the people we were with. On the contrary, I like my colleagues very much: I enjoy working alongside them, I have a decent relationship with them in that we can chat about stuff other than work as well as have a good old complain about whatever has gone wrong with our respective jobs (95% of the time through no fault of our own) to a sympathetic ear, and I do enjoy having the opportunity to go out and socialise with them outside the office, which can, as anyone who has worked in a large corporation will be able to attest, feel somewhat oppressive at times.

No, my desire to scarper after the meal and the activities were done was more to do with the fact that I simply don’t find socialising for socialising’s sake to be very fun or enjoyable. In fact, in most cases, I find it to be the exact opposite of fun and enjoyable: a feeling of anxiety starts to build up in my mind as I subconsciously count the seconds of silence that have elapsed between me and the person standing closest to me, and I start running through potential conversations in my mind before rejecting all of them on the grounds that they might make me sound like I’m “trying too hard”. Ultimately, I tend to just end up sitting in a corner feeling thoroughly miserable and, frankly, why would you voluntarily put yourself through that when the door is right there?

Socialising with a purpose, though? I’m fine. I love a board game evening or an afternoon of Mario Kart with friends. I enjoy a post-performance meal after a show that we’ve all participated in — though it’s been a good few years since one of these now. In other words, I appreciate opportunities to socialise where there are things to do — enjoyable things, that is — in lieu of unmemorable, instantly forgotten small-talk, and likewise I appreciate opportunities to socialise where there are ready-made conversational topics like “how did the show go?”  or “we sure showed that giant plant monster who’s boss, huh?”

I’ve come to accept this part of myself over the years. I just worry a bit at times that other people might not be quite so understanding.