I used to think I was an introvert.
Quiet kid. Good at lurking. Terrible at small talk.
The type to rehearse saying “hi” in his head for 10 minutes and still mess it up.
Then one day, I got invited to a party.
And no one showed up.
Except me. And a few awkward souls standing around like NPCs waiting for a script.
Something snapped. Or maybe—unlocked.
I walked up to a group and said, “Hey, this is weird right?”
They laughed. I laughed. Someone handed me a drink.
Suddenly I was the guy starting the karaoke.
I didn’t die. In fact, I felt alive.
That night I realized:
Being an extrovert isn’t a personality.
It’s a decision you make when silence gets boring.
Now I talk too much. I host things. I wear loud shirts.
Not because I’m a different person—but because I stopped assuming I had to wait for someone else to go first.
Moral of the story:
Sometimes, all it takes is one boring party to rewrite your whole personality.