As mentioned in past posts, I am a part of a Meetup writing group. Usually someone suggests a Meetup for Thursday nights, but this week I’ll be going out of town on Thursday, so I suggested one for last night.
I’ve been on this mailing list for months and months, but have never stepped out and suggested a Meetup, preferring to ride the coattails of whatever brave soul took the initiative to make a suggestion. I really love attending a weekly something with writing in mind, so missing Thursday was kind of a bummer for me. Making the suggestion was a way of owning up to the fact that I enjoy my weekly gab session about procrastination techniques, as well as the work that comes from forcing myself to put fingers to keyboard.
The suggested Meetup didn’t catch on at first, but thanks to some rad regular attendees of this meeting, about nine people signed up to go. I realized once at the cafe that I hadn’t said where we would meet (it’s kind of a spacious place) and that it might be confusing for anyone who hadn’t attended one of these before. So, at around 8:30pm (the time I had suggested to come together and gab), I walked around to every poor, caffeine-laden person with a laptop or with pen to paper and asked them if they were there for the Meetup. And if you read this regularly you know that I hate, loath initiating these types of interactions. I always feel like a teenage alien with limbs that I haven’t grown into yet and otherworldly spurts of word vomit.
Eventually I found all the individuals there for the Meetup and we came together to talk. The conversation was lighthearted, and the people this time around seemed laid back, so I was pretty happy that I suggested getting together. I even considered canceling at the last minute, but just like a couch potato needing to convince themselves to just get to the gym, sometimes I need to suck it up and get off my butt. I was glad I didn’t back out.