Midnight Ride

Saturday, America will celebrate the 240th anniversary of Paul Revere’s “Midnight Ride” with, like, a Google doodle or something.

At midnight, if you look at my window in Canaday courtyard, you might see a light, just as Paul saw lantern signals in the Old North Church—“one if by land, two if by sea.” If you see a light in my dorm room, I’m at my desk doing homework on a Friday night. And if you don’t, I’m at my desk doing homework on a Friday night, and I’ve closed the blind because I’m embarrassed.

It’s not a particularly complicated system. Most Friday and Saturday nights, you can find me studying unabashedly in my room. Except not that unabashedly, because the blind is usually closed.

I’m not a total shut-in. I get out there every few weeks, and I spend the requisite two or three hours bobbing my knees and wondering how soon I can leave. I get plenty of invitations. I’m supposed to be at a party as I write this, but I begged off at the last minute. “I have an essay. Bawling emoji. Bawling emoji. Bawling emoji.” And I have friends to go with, including several who make me beam every time they ask, again, if I’ll go out with them (a sick pleasure, since I usually say no).

I’m just scared. I’m scared because I don’t know if I know how to dance and because I don’t want to get drunk and look stupid. (And I definitely don’t want to be sober and look stupid.) I’m scared because I really do have an essay that’s due soon, and because I’m probably going to hurt my joints with all this knee bobbing. I’m scared that everyone knows I’m scared. I’m scared because I don’t want to do the wrong thing, and I don’t know how to release my anxiety for even an hour.

So I close my blind, do some homework, and send apologetic texts. I let my friends drink peach Rubinoff without me, and I spend another night biting my nails and avoiding my fears.

But then, in between response papers, I thought about something my mom used to say. She told me, “Get outside your comfort zone,” and I know this is just what she meant.

It’s ridiculous to pass up a great night with the best people just because I’m afraid. Nobody’s watching me. Everybody’s intoxicated. And there’s no reason to worry that I don’t know if I know how to dance, because obviously I don’t know how to dance. That one is settled. I should really just go for it.

So next Friday night, when America celebrates the 240-and-one-week anniversary of Paul Revere’s “Midnight Ride,” you can look up at my room above Canaday courtyard, and the light will probably be on. I’ll be at my desk, studying, because overcoming social anxiety is easier said than done. And also I do have an essay to write. Like, actually.

But I probably won’t close the blind. Because the first step is admitting you have a problem. And because I just published this nonsense, so it’s not really worth the energy to stand up and walk three feet to my window.

Plus, sometimes I do have great fun. Like if I’ve really knocked an essay out of the park, I’ll blast “I’m Sexy and I Know It” and shake my ass while I brush my teeth.

What can I say? I’m wild.

Ted G. Waechter ’18 is a Crimson editorial writer living in Canaday Hall.