For the love of invitations and cancelled plans!

I love invitations, but I love cancelled plans more. I am the most social, antisocial person you will ever meet!

I genuinely love being invited to things. Parties, dinners, coffee, brunch, random get-togethers, weekend plans, anything really. There is something very reassuring about knowing that someone thought of me and wanted me there. I will enthusiastically say yes. I will look forward to it. I will probably discuss what I am going to wear. I might even be the person making the plans in the first place.

But as the date approaches, I will have one and only one prayer... please cancel! There is a very specific kind of happiness that comes from receiving a text that says, "I am so sorry, can we reschedule?" Please do not apologize. You have just given me the greatest gift of all. An evening at home with absolutely nowhere to be. Suddenly, the night stretches beautifully ahead of me. I can change into pajamas, wash my face, make myself something to eat, and spend the next several hours doing absolutely nothing productive without an ounce of guilt.

It is not that I did not want to see you. I absolutely did. When we made the plans, I meant every word of my enthusiasm. The problem is that the person who made those plans and the person who has to actually attend them are apparently two completely different people. The first one is ambitious. Optimistic. Social. She looks at her calendar two weeks into the future and thinks, "Dinner on Friday sounds wonderful!"

The second one arrives on Friday evening after an entire week of existing and looks at the calendar in absolute disbelief. Who made these plans? Why would anyone do this to me?

I can talk to anyone, but 99 percent of the time, I just don't want to talk to anyone. I am not shy. I am not socially awkward. Put me in a room full of strangers, and I will be perfectly fine. I can start conversations, keep conversations going, and somehow end up knowing someone's entire life story before the evening is over. I genuinely enjoy people. I enjoy conversations. I enjoy hearing people's stories.

I just need to be mentally prepared for all of it. This is especially true when it comes to phone calls. I answer calls when I am in the mood for it. It is not that I don't care about you. It is not that I am deliberately ignoring you. Sometimes I see the phone ringing, see exactly who is calling, genuinely love the person calling, and still stare at the phone until it stops ringing. Because at that particular moment, I simply cannot make myself talk.

A phone call requires an immediate version of me. There is no editing. No thinking. No staring at the message for twenty minutes trying to decide whether "Sure!" sounds too enthusiastic and "Sure" sounds passive aggressive. Once I answer that call, I have committed myself to a conversation without knowing whether it will last three minutes or forty-seven.

That is a terrifying level of uncertainty. This is exactly why I love text messaging. Text messages understand me.

Text messages don't demand immediate emotional availability. They sit there patiently. They allow me to read them, think about them, formulate an answer, get distracted, forget about the answer, remember the message while shampooing my hair six hours later, and finally respond. I am not always on top of replying immediately, but you will get a response within two business days. Usually. That is, if it is a text message.

If it is a call back you are waiting for, please allow approximately one to two months. At that point, there is also a very real possibility that I have forgotten what you originally called me about. Your best option is to abandon the phone call entirely and send me a text.

And yet, somehow, I have friends. Good friends. People still invite me places. People still call me despite years of accumulated evidence suggesting that this is not the most effective way to reach me. People still make plans with me knowing there is a reasonable chance that, somewhere deep inside, I am secretly hoping someone cancels or that I will cancel.

I am surprised I still have a social life. But perhaps this is exactly why I do. Because when I actually show up, I show up. When I am there, I am completely there. I will talk. I will laugh. I will stay longer than I planned. I will tell stories. I will listen to yours. I will probably be one of the loudest people in the room. Anyone watching me would assume that I am an extreme extrovert who thrives on constant human interaction.

And then I will go home and require three to five business days to recover from being that person. That is the strange contradiction of being socially antisocial.

I love people. I just don't want them around me all the time.

I love conversations. I just don't want to have them on demand.

I love going out. I just love staying home a little bit more.

I love being included, even when I don't want to participate.

And perhaps that is the simplest explanation of me.

Please invite me. I want to know that you wanted me there. I might even come.

But if you cancel? I will love you forever.