no take-back-sies
embracing the true surrender of hosting and guesting, in real life
Every creative wants to host a dinner party.
Or a retreat, or a gathering, or a soiree…
The urge to break from the confines of the URL and into the bliss of the IRL is universal. We are a collective driven to be somebodies beyond the 1D.
The typical motivations are sweet:
Have conversations!
Meet new friends!
Let the tech neck breathe, a bit!
But IRL appeals to me for a different reason:
The “no take-back-sies” of being your whole ass self.
Standing, exposed, with all sides in plain view.
I’m co-hosting my third retreat this week, but it was attending one as a guest last month that reminded me of the discomfort and the beauty, of that.
It was held by client/peer/friend who I’ve worked with closely online for almost a year, and one of our first interactions put a pit so deep in my stomach I was considering fleeing the scene, permanently.
We’d just arrived at the retreat venue off a 3h bus ride through the mountains, and as she was greeting us all, she mentioned to another guest that her and I had already met once, in person.
When I tell you my mind went BLANK.
In the hazy overstimulation of 24h spent travelling, I couldn’t conjure the memory.
Without thinking, I chirped, “we did?!” as the panic started bubbling.
It only took a few moments of prompting before I remembered completely — the gorgeous morning we’d spent at a coffee shop in Hollywood last February — but I replayed my 60 seconds of ignorance in my head for another 12 hours.
(The next morning I apologized, and she said she hadn’t thought twice about it).
But that’s what it is to be witnessed.
Spending time with people in the flesh isn’t just about conversations that go a layer deeper or the sensation of being truly listened to…
It’s about saying the wrong thing and having to sit in it.
Online we aren’t cursed with that dynamic, which means we also can’t receive it’s full benefit.
We don’t get to learn how to bounce-back from the clumsiness of our existence, in real-time.
We don’t get to practice how it feels to apologize face to face.
We don’t get to stretch from sitting in it when we can’t.
I am equal parts fearless, well-spoken, and SO GODDAMN AWKWARD.
I give advice with laser-focused confidence but I panic when I have to introduce myself.
All of these versions exist in the IRL — no script, no cue cards, no backspace.
I resent the rawness, but find myself drawn back to it over and over again because I crave it, too.
Online we can emulate it, but there’s always some level of control.
IRL is a true surrender.
Like, look, here I am.
Take it or leave it.
At least now you know.
But the cutesy supper clubs don’t talk about that part.
They probably wouldn’t sell many tickets, if they did.
It’s easier to market friendship and giggles and maybe a cathartic tear or two.
To say, “come to my party, you might say something you regret for years but it’ll teach you how to sit with yourself and own who the fuck you are” doesn’t have the same ring to it, but it’s much closer to the truth.
So the invitation gives a date and a dress code and a theme and an intention, but the undertone will always be this:
Are you willing to let it all hang out?
Are you willing to accept yourself anyway?
Are you willing to trust that I will accept you, too?
I am.
I will.
No take-back-sies.
