Irish karaoke queen going sober.

Branch out in Bali.

Irish karaoke queen going sober.

BY SAOIRSE RAFFERTY

I’ve always been the last one standing on a night out. I have a reputation of hogging the karaoke microphone and believing I’m a better dancer than Beyoncé. Though I may have been labeled the life of the party after a few too many drinks, I’m actually an introvert at heart. Traveling solo pushed me to face some uncomfortable truths about myself. I love my own company, but I don’t always love myself in social settings. I realised I want to be someone who can attend a party alone without needing to be surrounded by a gang of people drunker than myself. Without needing to be drunk at all.

After a boat trip to Gili T ended with me walking home from a night out barefoot alongside the sunrise, unable to retrieve the only shoes I’d brought with me, then being thanked by people in the hostel for a great night of entertainment, I decided I was fed up with downing shots as a form of bonding and entertaining to make friends. I wanted to be okay with ME, not just with what people thought of me.

It was uncomfortable at first – it always is. It felt weird going to a bar for a drink (singular) alone while there were cliques laughing at nearby tables. My mum told me it used to be frowned upon for a woman to sit at a bar alone in Catholic Ireland, never mind order a pint of Guinness. Yet here I was judgement-free at a bar in Bali, still feeling judged.

I decided attending a sober rave was a safe starting point for shaking the shame away and diving outside my comfort zone. At least it wasn’t the sort of raves I’d grown accustomed to, where everyone was incapable of seeing or speaking. Any Sundays we spent together were huddled up in blankets hiding behind pulled curtains. Here, people gathered together for a morning of ecstatic dancing on a rooftop overlooking the ocean. The only sober gathering I’d attended on a Sunday morning was Catholic mass, and that definitely didn’t involve bodies tangling up.

I was so nervous as I stood alone amidst a crowd of a hundred or so people on the rooftop dancefloor, regretting my choice of gym shorts and a tank top. Nobody could have prepared me for the attractive men and how confident they all were. At home, Irish men only enter the dancefloor if they’ve gotten lost on the way back from the toilet. They wouldn’t voluntarily move to the music, especially while engaging with the opposite sex in broad daylight. Next to me was a girl wearing a two-piece red outfit, jewels stuck to her chest and glitter painted along her cheek bones. I braved myself to ask.

“Have you done this before?” Based on her expression, it was clear I’d insulted her. “I come here every week,” she responded before dancing in the opposite direction. I then saw a girl paler than I was and could recognize the Irish in her. I greeted her like she was an old friend, then was interrupted by a tall guy who decided to take on the role of security. He signaled a ‘hush’ to remind us we were meant to ‘stay silent’ on the dance-floor. I was completely stripped of my social crutches. Apparently nobody came here to make friends or chat; they were here for themselves.

Enchanted by the DJ crooning some magical words about letting go, I closed my eyes. All the while feeling like an imposter amongst all these exotic sexy people moving so joyfully. I wished I could be more like them. I opened my eyes as the music got progressively faster, and couldn’t help but observe the people around me making poses that seemed too advanced for any yoga class I’d ever been to. They would look ridiculous on a night out in Ireland, but why was I the one feeling ridiculous?

As I relaxed more into the beat of the bongos, an epiphany smacked me in the face: none of them were looking at me. They weren’t looking at anyone. Just like the ‘hushhh’ guy was trying to tell me, everyone seemed very much into themselves, their own bodies. So why did I care so much when none of them seemed to care? I threw my arms in the air and my heart leaped with joy as I let myself feel a part of the tribe, twirling freely and clapping along to the music.

You can choose courage or you can choose comfort. You cannot have both.

Soon after my first sober rave experience, I attended a gig at Old Man’s on my own. I felt crippled with nerves, even though it was to see a musician I loved. Cringing at my reflection in the mirror before leaving the house that night, I reminded myself, ‘You are enough as you are.’

Amidst the long queue of rambunctious groups and loved-up couples, I found myself next to a lady who smiled politely at me. ‘Are you here on your own?’ I asked. “Yeah, my friend was supposed to come with me but backed out. Felt a bit weird coming to a gig alone,” she responded in such a soft tone I’d to lean closer to hear her. “No, me too!” I said excitedly. “Except without the friend part.” We both laughed and bonded over why we often let fear block us from going to something we’d enjoy, especially when it’s the fear of what others will think. “People presume you’re lonely when you go to things alone but I like the freedom of traveling alone,” I shared with her. We had a great night, and instead of my customary shots, I sipped on a single beer while taking in the music.

Since then I’ve done months of no alcohol to prove to myself that I don’t need it to enjoy myself. But I’ve also learnt I’m able to enjoy a pint of Guinness without using it as my social crutch. If I have to down alcohol to have fun, the reality is I’m probably not having fun. I still have a long way to go before engaging in an intimate dance with a stranger, but attending sober raves several times has helped me feel more confident being in crowded rooms.

So if something inside of you is whispering ‘I wish I could do that’, I’m here to tell you that you can! If you’re always surrounded by the same people, how are you ever going to meet new people? If you’re always relying on alcohol for socializing, how will you ever know if you’re actually enjoying it? Yes, it’ll be scary, but the more you do it, the more you’ll learn to enjoy your own company. Whether it’s going sober at a party or just eating dinner at a fancy restaurant on your own, I dare you to give it a go. As Brene Browne says, “You can choose courage or you can choose comfort. You cannot have both. ” I choose courage every time. What about you?

FROM THE AUTHOR

First of all, my name is pronounced ‘Seer-sha’ (I’m Irish if you hadn’t already guessed). I like to talk about the messiness of being human and why it’s okay to be a beginner. I am a travel enthusiast, writer, podcaster, book-lover, dog lover, cat lover, and, as of lately, risk-taker. I have just finished my first novel and am working on the second.

Check out agoodkindofscary.com or follow @agoodkindofscary on Instagram.