Letting my hair down. . . or not

After promising Ficali for weeks that I would go to Keats to see what this Irish bar to beat all Irish bars was all about, I finally decided to make good on that promise last night.

So I joined her, Ilajna and Doobie at Keats, smack bang in the middle of the drunken revelry of St. Patrick's Day - and Karaoke Night. By the time I got there, the three of them, and a few friends of theirs, had already been there for several hours, belted out at least three songs and imbibed a signicant amount of alcohol. So, when I, a "karaoke virgin," as one of the staff of Keats christened me, arrived on the scene, stone sober and not inclined to making a fool of myself, Ficali seriously informed me: "You know we've been here since 5:00. So, you'd better gulp down your beer quickly so you can catch up with us."

"Oh ok," I said.

But, as the evening progressed, I could not get down more than a couple of beers in my efforts to "catch up." And, I could not bring myself to get up on stage even once, or loosen up more than to move a little bit to the music, and let out the occasional "whoo!" I'm not particularly conscious about my voice - I've sung in school productions, choirs and have even taken private singing lessons. But I just couldn't bring myself to even open my mouth, even from the floor - even to Ficali's plea of "One line, please, just one line."

I still had fun - I laughed a lot, which I hadn't done for a while, I was tickled pink by some of the performers (not excluding Ficali, Ilajna and Y, who certainly didn't share my trepidation) and I had an interesting coversation in the loo line with a blind drunk Indian social work student from NYU.

But I couldn't let go.

On my way back home, I reflected on this, and I came to the conclusion that I'm an observer. Whether by choice or otherwise, I am unable to lose myself in situations, no matter how intense or engrossing. On almost every occasion when others around me let go and throw all caution to the winds, I find myself an onlooker - part of the proceedings, but still somehow detached from what is going on around me, almost giving myself a running commentary on what is happening. I still enjoy myself, but much like one would enjoy a movie: looking on, enjoying what is happening on screen, but not participating.

I can only remember one instance - which, I must admit, involved a significant amount of alcohol - when I came anywhere near forgetting myself, and letting go completely. One time! And I've lived a quarter of a century!

I am very disturbed by this knowledge. Why am I so unable to let go? Why do I always feel the need to step back and be an observer, rather than participate? Why am I so unable to lose myself, to completely let go, and be willing to get totally into a situation? Is it because I'm boring? Uptight? Self-conscious? Old? Or do I just plain not drink enough? Any budding shrinks want to take a stab?