Transformer

It was always a thin line to walk between being introverted or extroverted. At the tip of a hat, I could transform into the most outspoken and friendly version of myself right after being as distant from life as I could possibly get. It was like the hand of a metronome swinging back and forth to the rhythm of life. But there was a time where the hand seemed to break, infinitely stuck to one side of the spectrum as the hand lay static in the realm of introversion. Drowned in my self-imposed loneliness, I found myself straying away from those around me and trying my hardest to keep to myself whenever I could, expediting all fun events so that I could hole up in the confines of my bedroom and be alone with my thoughts.

But Noah had other plans for me. That tall, lanky, and frankly stupid boy who I now call one of my best friends decided that introversion didn’t suit me.

The first time I ever encountered him, was when my parents had invited his family over for dinner to meet them as my father’s pursuit of Christianity moved him to invite a new family from the church over every weekend, a draining prospect that in recent years has been apologized for in great excess. His family was one of the first, a family with five homeschooled children who were all a strange sight for someone who didn’t even know what homeschooling was until this encounter. Social cues and any sense of conversating was at an all-time low, and at first it was odd introducing myself to all the kids who seemed to be replicas of some cookie-cutter awkwardness passed down through generations, but the oldest one stood out. The rebel. The leader of the troupe of timidity. He was rambunctious, and more outgoing than the most extroverted public schooler. Loud and hyperactive, the type that you’d guessed would explode if that sat still for more than thirty seconds. For my introverted self, this would of course been a major red flag and something to avoid even in the face of these forced meet and greets established by my father. But this boy had brought with him something extraordinary, something I’d never even imagined being a reality until he opened his New Balance shoebox and brought out his good tidings. His Transformer toys that were made of the most popular plastic of all, Legos.

A Lego Transformer? The idea was absurd. My two favorite things mashed together into some sort of Saturday morning cartoon chimera. It didn’t seem possible, the two had never coexisted with one another. You either played with Transformers, or you played with Legos, never the two of them at once, it had to have been taboo. But this boy, thin as a knife blade with Harry Potter glasses lining shifty eyes, had done two impossible deeds. One, the obvious bastardization, yet intriguing, mixture of toys, and two, he’d won me over to a new person in an instant. 

Are families ate dinner of course, but as soon as the meal was done, the two of us retreated into the basement and had a full meal of Transformers and Legos that, in some strange way, led to this complete stranger spending the night the very day we met. 

Flash forward a year, and the layers of my introversion had started to crack, though it was still holding fast despite his best attempts. He was raised in the church, a boy well-known and aware of everyone his age and considered them all friends of his, and they met his energy with the same feelings. I was raised in public schools and “bring your son to work” days to introduce me to others. These were all strangers to me, but he considered them all brothers and sisters.

Wednesday night, a potluck for my parents’ growth group. Multiple families gathered in a room with their homemade meals for all the group to eat. Plenty of adults, though less children because most of the couple in the group were older and their children were already in university. It was my brother and I alongside Noah and his gang of wild siblings who darted around the room like air molecules. I sat with Noah the whole time and we talked about our shared hobbies as we always did, but eventually, a new prospect was thrust before me. 

A youth group. Essentially a Sunday morning service consisting of just junior high and high school students who gathered Wednesday nights to listen to the hip pastor flash us some cool verses and lessons. I was finally old enough to attend, the budding seventh grader I was, and Noah invited me to come as his junior (he was only a year older than me). 

Why would I? So many kids, so many homeschoolers who, unlike Noah, had no good tidings to bring with them like those strange creations he’d brought before me so many months ago. These would be a bunch of uncaged brats who were loud and obnoxious like his little siblings who had no good things to bring to the table like Noah did.

But I looked up to Noah, the staggering year older he was to me. He had an innate, unknowing charisma that made it easy for him to talk to people and make friends, a talent I was not only severely lacking, but not wanting. 

Extroversion.

Despite my strongest pleas, I ended up going. My parents hadn’t even told me to; it was all a result of Noah’s prodding and insistence that I went without much hassle, and it was one of the most amazing decisions I’ve made. 

The influx of people, personalities, and warm welcomes changed something in me that, despite my separation from the religion nowadays, I still hold onto the biggest thing I learned from my time there. I learned how to talk to people, how to approach new situations and personalities without preconceived notions on who they were or what they brought to the table. I learned to love social interactions, group activities, and so many other social ideas that I now carry with me into everything that I do. The metronome is still broken, but the hand has shifted towards the other end of the spectrum, stuck firmly into the realm of extroversion that allows me to love people and be outgoing in the face of awkward situations and new encounters. I give thanks to you, Noah, for forcing me pull myself from my solitude and learn to be around others and enjoy it. For showing me that people are not what they seem on the surface, for showing me that it’s better to try, than to have never tried at all. This ones for you, you lanky geek.