Last week I wrote about drowning in the crowds at the Ohio Renaissance Festival—thousands of people celebrating something I didn’t understand, leaving me desperate to escape. So when my apartment building announced a mixer at a local Latin restaurant, I was hesitant. Forced socialization with just-barely-not-strangers? Yeah, not my thing.
But I went anyway. Free food helps.
Here’s what surprised me: I stayed until the end. Not out of politeness, not because I was trapped in a conversation I couldn’t escape. I stayed because I was actually enjoying myself.
The building management welcomed us with genuine warmth—the kind that makes you realize they actually wanted us there, not just checking off some “community building” box. We gathered on Tulum’s patio, traffic humming by on the avenue, barely audible music grating on everyone’s nerves (a shared annoyance that became another point of connection).
I even tried the chicken quesadilla. I’m usually a cheese-only, stick-to-what-I-know kind of eater, but something about the evening made me think, why not? It was good. Really good, actually.
The conversations were wonderfully random. We spent time discussing Peter Dinklage’s filmography and DVDs (remember those?). A few people shared their experience with the chainsaw crew that’s been “improving the view” out front, impacting their work-from-home setup with the noise. Someone mentioned pet bunnies. There was talk of forming a building band—someone plays viola, another has a guitar, and I mentioned my keyboard. Will it happen? Probably not, but it was fun to imagine. Retirement plans, travel dreams—the kind of meandering conversation that only happens when people have time and no agenda.
What struck me was how different this felt from the Renaissance Festival. There, people were in their established groups, participating in something I didn’t get, leaving me feeling alone in the crowd. Here, we were all starting from the same place: neighbors who barely knew each other, showing up to the same random Thursday night event.
I often say I’m good at relationships an hour at a time—it’s my therapy joke, but there’s truth in it. I can connect deeply in those structured sessions, but social gatherings? That’s different territory. Yet here I was, well past the hour mark, still engaged.
The last time I took the Myers-Briggs, I came out as an “E” and was surprised. I shouldn’t have been. I’m realizing I’m actually a fiend for genuine connection. I think about sitting on the bench outside the Cincinnati Fringe Festival while others went inside to the noisy event—I wasn’t avoiding people, I was avoiding the chaos. I like people more than I thought. I just don’t like crowds or overwhelming spaces where real conversation is impossible.
Near the end of the evening, William, our maintenance guy, introduced me to my new downstairs neighbor. I made my usual joke about being noisy (not entirely a joke—my soundbar and I were sharing movie nights with the previous occupant down there against her will). As we talked, joined by others who’d I’ve seen around the building, I found myself sitting back down instead of heading out.
That’s when I understood: I don’t avoid people. I avoid environments where genuine connection isn’t possible.
The Renaissance Festival was all wrong for me—too much stimulation, too many barriers to actual conversation. But Thursday night? A manageable group, shared complaints about chainsaws, opinions about actors, dreams about bands that will never form—this was the right setting. These were the right conditions.
Will this change my daily hallway encounters? Probably not much. I’ll still be polite, though now I know some names and a few random facts about my neighbors. Our building will likely return to its usual library-quiet state, where seeing someone in the hallway is so rare it’s startling.
But I learned something about myself. My “E” isn’t missing—it’s just particular about when and how it shows up. Give me a patio on a nice evening, people with nowhere else to be, something to bond over (even if it’s just bad music), and apparently I’ll choose to stay.
Next time there’s a building mixer, I won’t hesitate. I might even look forward to it. And I’ll order that chicken quesadilla again next time, too. Maybe I’ll even try the rice.
Another breakthrough? We’ll see.
