The Irish Cure for Social Anxiety
And no, it’s not Guiness.
When I’m on my own overseas (which is often) I tend to take my time getting to know my surroundings. I’m like the human sloth of travelers. Never in a hurry, I slowly inch my way from place to place, quietly observing the world around me. I’ve long considered myself an extrovert, but the incessant need to talk and make friends is not as strong as it used to be after two years of social distancing. As I sit alone in a cafe or bar, looking at my surroundings, my newfound social anxiety feels mutual. Idle chit chat may pop up from time to time, but an extended conversation with a total stranger? Check, please.
A long time ago, my friend Tom gave me a valuable piece of advice. No matter where you are in the world, if you need an English speaking friend to talk to, find an Irish pub. I’ve now lived on three continents and can confidently say he was exactly right. After a long day of struggling to communicate, gettting lost, getting indigestion, or just missing my family, a pint at an Irish pub, anywhere in the world, would guarantee me three new best friends, a late night sing-a-long (karaoke if you’re in Asia), and/or at least one birthday or wedding invitation for later that week.
Now I have the fortune of spending a few months in Ireland, the birthplace of my social refuge. To make matters even more interesting, I live with a local family on a goat cheese farm in County Cork. I couldn’t wait to find a cozy neighborhood pub, order a proper pint, and make new friends. I dare you to come up with a better conversation starter.
Unfortunately, rolling up to an Irish pub alone in 2022 is not what it used to be. The masks and the social distancing are “officially” gone, but the battle wounds of the pandemic are still there. The bar seats often go unused, save for the few older Irishman who would rather have a lobotomy than miss the Gaelic Rugby match on TV. The clusters of small friend groups gathered at nearby tables seem impenetrable and the cloud of social awkwardness is about as thick as the head of my Murphy’s Irish Stout*. It’s like going to your high school homecoming game a year or two after graduation and realizing “oh man, what am I actually doing here?”.
Unable to tolerate my newfound identity as an Irish Pub Wallflower, I decided to spend more time exploring. I started visiting museums, parks, and any other attraction that doesn’t have golden arches or a Starbucks logo. When I ran out of ideas, I would go back and visit a second time. What the heck, who doesn’t want to visit the Cork Museum of Butter twice?
Then something totally unexpected happened. People remembered me.
“Oh hey, ya, you were just here a few weeks ago!” the person at the door would exclaim. “How’s life on the goat cheese farm?”
Of course, my first response to this was total confusion. Um what?? Are you talking to me? How many people live on goat cheese farms on this island? Is there a goat standing behind me?
This situation has since repeated itself in coffee shops, bus stations, and even the Jameson Whiskey Distillery. (Because come on, why would you not visit that place more than once?) It completely blew my feeble, city slicker mind that someone would actually remember me, a random visitor, who looks no different from any other American tourist just passing through. It also made me realize maybe I don’t have to worry so much about meeting people and making friends in a country where the entire population (5 million) is smaller than most of the world’s major cities. Just ask Hayley, my new best friend who works at the Jameson Distillery**.
I grew up in the suburbs of Charlotte, NC, a city that expanded so rapidly during my lifetime, it’s hard to recognize the “big town” it used to be. It’s current population is twice the size of Dublin and 10 times the size of the area where I live in Ireland. My fellow Charlotteans and I have long celebrated this growth, and saw it as a point of pride to have amassed a bounty of available jobs, places to eat, and sports teams to watch in such a short amount of time. This sentiment is shared all over the U.S., where urban centers continue to explode and rural communities often struggle to stay afloat, relegated to farmhouse-core makeovers on HGTV for any kind of national recognition.
Now we are two years into a pandemic, permanently shifting toward remote work models, and I’m starting to wonder, what’s so bad about living in a small town? These days, I’m finding it a whole lot easier than swiping right, liking, E-viting and Meetup-ing my way through a new social network. While it’s reputation is a fun-loving, Guiness-slinging land of shamrocks and pub crawls, the real charm of Ireland is its sense of community and welcoming nature toward strangers like me, sitting in the corner like a sloth, secretly hoping someone will take notice.
Charlotte will never be relegated to its former “big town” status, but I can’t help but miss the days when we all went to the same mall (Eastland), commuted to work on the same annoying street (Independence Blvd) and cheered for the Atlanta Braves because, despite their then horrible record, Dale Murphy was a god among men and we had no one else to worship. I count myself lucky I will always have family and friends who share these memories and welcome me with open arms in spite of its constant development.
I find it curious that I’m feeling the same way about Ireland, a place that more than makes up for its lack of big city excitement with genuine warmth, a waiting smile, and a glass of Jameson Blue Spot when you get hit hard by the Wallflower Blues. (thanks, Hayley). The Irish pub may not be the cure for my post pandemic social awkwardness, but at least I’m in a country where everybody knows my name.
*According to the people of County Cork, Guiness is the drink of ”Dublin Jackeens” and not an acceptable libation in Southwest Ireland. I don’t make the rules…
**Hayley is not currently aware we are best friends and I would appreciate that if anyone plans to visit the Jameson Distillery in Midleton to exercise discretion. I am expecting a birthday party invitation any day now. Also, please avoid drinking Jameson Blue Spot. She only has one bottle left until October and it’s mine.
