Confessions of a Professional Introvert (Sent Into the Wild)

By the time you’re reading this, I’ll be on my way to a four-day conference surrounded by people. So many people. Morning people. Networking people. People who say things like, “Let’s circle back” before coffee.
And look, I genuinely admire folks who thrive in that environment. The extroverts who glide from conversation to conversation like social hummingbirds, collecting business cards and new friendships before lunch. I watch them the way one watches Olympic athletes. With respect. And confusion.
Because here’s the truth: I am profoundly, spectacularly socially awkward.
Online? I’m fine. Behind a keyboard, I’m charming, articulate, maybe even a little witty. Give me a screen and time to think and I can carry on conversations all day long. Put me in a crowded ballroom with name badges and fluorescent lighting, though, and I become a strange hybrid creature. Part Scout troop leader. Part ghost.
I show up. I smile. I nod encouragingly. I hover near snack tables like a man waiting for instructions from headquarters.
This particular conference is for one of my travel consulting gigs, which means I don’t get to quietly observe from the sidelines. Oh no. I have responsibilities. I’m giving a presentation on Monday, which requires me to stand in front of actual humans and speak in complete sentences. Fortunately, that's easy for me. My two best skills are public speaking and getting men out of their pants.

After that, I’ll be working a booth for the rest of the event, engaging in the ancient ritual known as Professional Small Talk.
If you’ve ever worked a conference booth, you know the drill. You repeat the same explanation two hundred times while trying to look energetic instead of slowly dissociating. By day three, your voice sounds like gravel and you begin questioning every life choice that led you there.
I may lose my marbles. Honestly, odds are good.
So if Wednesday’s newsletter arrives looking a little lighter than usual, now you know why. I’ll be out in the world doing conference things, kissing hands, shaking babies, making connections, and periodically sneaking away to recharge my social battery somewhere quiet, probably near an electrical outlet.
The funny part is this: I actually like people. I just like them best in smaller doses. One-on-one conversations. Honest exchanges. The kind where nobody is trying to “network” and everyone can just be human for a minute.
Still, growth happens outside comfort zones, or so I keep telling myself as I pack comfortable shoes and emotional support caffeine.
Wish me luck. If I survive four days of nonstop socializing, there may be stories when I return.
And possibly a long nap.