When You Sit at the Wrong Table

We’re rushing. My husband Jeff and I hurriedly grab a seat beside five other participants at the round table labeled “Convo Table 1” under the tent. They’ve already begun.

It’s a hot September day. A fan is blowing air our direction. I settle in as comfortably as I can into my chair for the next hour.

The leader passes us his handout.

I look at the title.

That’s when the first uh-oh hits.

Did we sit at the wrong table?

We Don’t Always Choose the Same

While Jeff and I come to the Wild Goose Festival together—and leave together—we don’t always stay here together. Every hour offers multiple sessions.

And we rarely choose the same ones.

At one hour, you may find me deep in emotional conversations with fellow contemplatives at “Death Cafe,” while at the same hour Jeff is laughing it up with new friends at “Pub Trivia.”

No judgment on either of us. Both tracks are great. No right or wrong.

So when I convince him to join me for the 4:00 session called “Fishbowl Circle Conversations,” I want it to be good. For both of us.

The conversations are to center around this: “One thing we’re not talking about, but we should be talking about is…”
Sounds both fun and enlightening.

I look again at this handout in front of me—with its tiny font and words crowded together on front and back pages. I glance sideways at Jeff also looking at it.

I start feeling sick.

The topic listed is definitely something we’ve not been talking about.
But neither is it something I want to spend the next hour talking about.

I whisper to Jeff, “Maybe this is just a sample conversation starter?”

His eyes answer: What have you gotten me into?

I search frantically for the festival schedule.

We’re sitting at Convo Table 1.
The session I had circled for the fishbowl conversation is at…Convo Table 2.

What do we do now?

The Polite Thing to Do

I was brought up to be polite.

Every good Southern girl is trained that “if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” To pull your car to the side of the road when a funeral procession passes by, no matter the hurry you’re in. To offer a “Bless your heart” at the appropriate moment.

So to get up and leave this table midstream just because it’s boring to me?
Unthinkably rude.

But staying here for an hour, knowing I got Jeff into this mess (and he’d be even more bored by this topic than I am!), also seems disrespectful. To him and to me.

I look again at Jeff. I whisper, “Can we just…leave?”

He’s already gathering his things.

I wait for a tiny break in the speaker’s monologue and then announce, “I’m so sorry, but we’re at the wrong table.”

We set our handouts back on the table, stand up, and walk away.

Sometimes, Just Leave

There are many lessons I could have learned that day—including triple-checking the location next time.

But the lesson I’m taking away is that sometimes I am going to end up at the wrong table. (Sometimes it’s even the table I thought I wanted.)

I’ve often stayed too long in places I needed to leave sooner, simply because I didn’t want to appear rude. Or didn’t want to admit I made a mistake. Or I was slow to even realize this table wasn’t for me.

Sometimes that’s been okay. I learned things. Some of them quite valuable things.

But other times, it’s just been wrong. Period. And there was no value in staying.

When those times come, I want to be quicker to admit the error. And leave. Change course. Go a different direction.

I’m happy to report that after leaving Table 1 for Table 2 that Friday, we had amazing fishbowl conversations, experimenting with a format I’ve never used before (and have since used at home!).

But that’s a lesson for another day. . . .

I’m not going to tell you what topic was on the handout at Table 1, lest I offend anyone. What I found terribly boring might be something you could talk about for hours. 😉

Share your thoughts in the comments.

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