CONNECT, G*D@##!T

Follwing the advice of the (annoying) higher self.
By Kathleen Choe (actor/singer/writer)

I'm sitting in my apartment after a day of working from home on my computer, spending my breaks reading awful news headline (cabinet appointments) after awful news headline (Walter Scott, Ohio...). I look at the clock. 3:53pm.

I signed with my agents a few months ago. I love them. It’s almost time for their holiday party. I feel dejected and gross and the last thing I want to do is make small talk with people I don't know.

Connect, goddamit.

I text two of my friends. Ugh. Not in the mood to make small talk with strangers. Just want to stay home and stay in my comfy schlubby clothes watch Netflix.

Show up, they say. It will be fun. You don’t have to stay long. Watch Netflix when you get home.

Oddly, saying (or texting) my social anxiety makes me feel better. I remember that I had emailed another one of my friends to see if she was going—also signed with the same agents—and she said yes, so I know there will be at least one friendly face. And wine.

Connect, goddammit.

I pick out some funky earrings, some makeup, look in the mirror and feel better. Also, skinny jeans still fit after Thanksgiving (woot).

Presentable. Yay.

En route I buy some gloves and a hat at Duane Reade because my agents are collecting clothing items at their holiday party to donate to charity, because they’re cool like that.

I show up. It’s packed. When I walk in my agents greet me warmly and point me in the direction of the bar. I get a glass of red and look around for my friend and realize she hasn’t arrived yet.

I busily fill a plate with hors d’oeuvres and take a gulp of wine. The “gah-awkward-dork-in-the-corner” pit takes root in my stomach. I stuff a shrimp (or two) in my mouth, sip (gulp) some wine, and decide that I’ll stick around for thirty minutes, then exit.

Connect, goddammit.

I scowl. Shut up, I tell the inner voice.

Then I see an old classmate. I smile. I know from Facebook she’s gotten her MFA in Acting and has been working steadily since then, but actual live conversation hasn’t happened for...wow. A few years.

She: How have you been?
Me: Honestly? Still trying to get over this election.
She: (grimaces) Same. (lifts glass) To Nasty Women.

We drink. We laugh. She introduces me to her friend who she’s come with, and they tell me about the show they were in, and life, and I relax.

Wow. I’m enjoying myself.

Connect, goddammit.

Her friend has just sampled some of the booze-laden cake which he encourages me to try, but I never make it to the table to get a piece because my friend shows up with another friend of ours and the booze-laden cake can wait. Yet another mutual friend shows up and we all chat together. I make my way over to the bathroom, and run into someone who works in the office, who introduces me to another person in the office and some other people he’s talking to…fellow actors, writers, artists. We all talk, and laugh, and talk.

Connect, goddammit.

My friends come to say goodbye and I swerve on my feet and realize that I should probably head out too. 30 minutes has turned into 2+ hours, but I’m in a much better frame of mind than when I walked in.

When I’m down, my usual MO is to isolate and disappear. I didn’t this time. I’m glad. As angry as I've been about the state of our country and as worried as I am about the future, on top of everything else that comes with being an artist in this city…this. People. Being around and engaging with your fellow human beings, community. It never fails to remind you of what’s important.

Pretty Cool People.
(And some random finger photobombing)