In spite of the social strides I was making with passengers above the clouds, a party was still a living nightmare to me. As a flight attendant, I had a “role,” things that I had to do, a reason for being there. However, everything that made me slump, sweat, and shiver all at the same time was embodied in one terrifying word—parties.
But, wouldn’t you know it. As probably the shyest person who ever said “fasten your seat belt,” I wound up living in a nonstop party building. It was near the airport and housed hundreds of us stewardesses. Legions of aspiring suitors nicknamed it “The Stew Pound.”
Naturally, like any building housing a bevy of beauties, herds of hopeful men swarmed around it like bugs. Sadly, many ended up fried like insects in a bug zapper. But as much of a seller’s market as it was, I was too shy to talk to even the grilled ones.
Annika and Ulla, two drop-dead gorgeous Scandinavians were my roommates. Every night they weren’t on a trip, their ears would perk up at sounds of music, laughter, and clinking glasses somewhere in the building. With a splash of perfume and a dash of lipstick, they’d be prancing down the hall to find the party. I was rapidly running out of feeble excuses to stay home.
One evening, Annika was studying our flight schedules. “Oh, look at this. We’re all going to be in town Thursday after next. Let’s give a party!”
Drat, I knew this was going to happen sooner or later. “Wonderful idea!” I said.
The dreaded night arrived. About 6:30, Annika and Ulla excitedly helped each other with buttons, zippers, and makeup. I sat glued to my bed.
Annika looked at me, “Leil, aren’t you getting dressed?”
“Uh, well, I have a good friend who has a bad cold,” I lied. Mumbling something about bringing her chicken soup, I fled the apartment.
That night, sitting alone in a Chinese restaurant, I was miserable. I swore to attempt some of the parties in the building.
In the following weeks, I broke my self-promise dozens of times—until a lightbulb went on in my head. I devised a plan that miraculously shrank my fear of parties. Retroactively, I call it…
Have you ever fed pigeons in the park? You cast a few bread crumbs on the path. Pigeons fly out of nowhere and apprehensively land about twelve feet away. In time, one brave bird bolts toward a crumb, grabs it in his beak, and flies away. The other pigeons see that their feathered friend survived the encounter. You cast another handful of crumbs. Some of the more courageous birds make tentative approaches. As their confidence grows, their distance from you diminishes. Before long, you’re surrounded by peeping pigeons begging to eat out of your hand. Unbeknownst to them, of course, they’ve practiced “Graduated Exposure.” They are no longer afraid of you.
Take a hint from the birds. Ease into a party. You can’t just submerge yourself and expect not to drown. Don’t flinch and say, “I will grin and bear it.” That might be downright destructive because the pain could reinforce your fear of parties. It’s too much, too soon. Instead, say, “I’ll spend ten minutes there, that’s all.”
How painful can ten minutes be? You could survive ten minutes of the dentist drilling your teeth, right? But if he said, “Don’t worry, I’m only going to keep drilling for three hours,” you’d be sprinting down the street with the dentist’s bib still around your neck.
At first, don’t force yourself to stay at a gathering for an hour—then run like a frightened dog with its tail between its legs. Plan to spend only ten minutes at the first party. After you’ve done that, congratulate yourself and then leave. You can feel good about yourself because you’ve accomplished your goal.
Then, when the next gathering rolls around, increase your stay to twenty minutes, then thirty, and so on.
I’d like to have a relationship with a woman and I know parties are a major meeting place. But the idea of me striking up a relationship with a woman at a party is like science fiction because parties give me the jitters and I don’t like to go to bars. A friend of mine invited me to go to a weekly mixer recently and I wasn’t accustomed to mingling. I tried to stick with him but he was getting irritated that I was hanging on. I told him I was leaving. Then he dragged me there the next week and it wasn’t as bad…. Now I’m trying to go each week and stay a little longer each time. I think it’s helping because I don’t shudder as much as the day approaches.
—Jeremy B., Abilene, Texas
One reason that so many Shys shun parties is because the sheer number of people is overwhelming. They would feel more at ease with just a few. One Shy who wrote to me found a way to make even the biggest bashes less intimidating.
One thing that helped me get over being allergic to parties was to go early. That way I was forced to talk to people because there would be so few there.
—Ian E., Baltimore, Maryland
Great idea, Ian! An additional advantage to arriving early is that, as the party progresses, you now know a few people. If you start to get the jitters not knowing anyone, you can comfortably join them later. They can also introduce you to other partygoers. That’s easier than making a “cold call” on a stranger standing nearby.