Maybe I’m Just a Late Bloomer

This past Saturday, I hosted my first party. I mean, first party… ever.

Not a little dinner. Not a cozy catch-up with two friends and a bottle of wine. A real party. A backyard full of people, food, music, string lights, and laughter. I sent out a last-minute invite to almost everyone I know and respect, around 50 people total, and to my complete shock, 25 of them showed up. That might not sound like a lot to some people, but for me? It was everything.

Here’s the thing: I’ve never done this before. Not in high school. Not in college. Not as an adult. I’ve never been the girl who hosts. I’ve never been the one who says, “Come to my place. I’ve got it covered.”

Growing up, I skipped a lot of things people think are normal milestones. I skipped through high school. I skipped college. By the time I was 18, I wasn’t playing beer pong in dorm rooms or planning spring break trips with friends; I was managing people twice my age. I moved to the East Coast, took on real jobs, and started building a career before I ever really had a chance to build community.

When you’re the boss at 18, 19, 20… when you’re running meetings, hiring people, making decisions, and carrying weight, you don’t exactly have time for girls’ weekends. You don’t stay out late with coworkers who see you as their manager. And when your one real day off a week is used to run errands, clean, or just breathe? Hosting a party, let alone making friends, feels like something that belongs to someone else’s version of adulthood.

But lately, I’ve been realizing something: maybe I didn’t miss those moments. Maybe I just wasn’t ready yet, my life wasn’t ready yet. But things are different now.

So I planned a dinner party. A big one.

I spent a full week prepping (between my already packed schedule), I cleaned every corner of my house. I trimmed the backyard. I made a giant charcuterie board, actually three.

And then, the sun came out. It was 72 degrees, not a cloud in the sky. Which, if you know anything about the week we had here, was a gift straight from the weather gods. It rained before. It rained after. It’s literally been pouring ever since. But that day? She was perfect.

My backyard was glowing. I strung up lights. People filtered in slowly, drinks in hand, hugs on arrival. Everyone brought something: snacks, flowers, drinks, and good energy. There was music. There were children running barefoot through the grass. There were conversations that actually, intellectually, mattered. We played oldies, and around midnight, I turned the music off out of respect for the neighbors. But the funny thing? One of my neighbors told me afterward that she and her friends were listening from their window and loving it. They were jamming in their living room, windows wide open.

We grilled hot dogs and stacked nearly 80 burgers. Yes… 80 burgers. I have no idea how, but they all got eaten. I thought I overdid it. I guess I didn’t.

At one point, a few friends gave a toast. Just a quick little moment of gratitude, thanking me for bringing everyone together. I nearly cried. I couldn’t believe I created something that felt like this.

Because for a long time, I really believed this wasn’t in the cards for me. I didn’t think I was the kind of person who had a backyard full of people who wanted to be there. I thought I missed that window, that by throwing myself into work so young, I had sacrificed any real chance at building friendships. Deep, rooted friendships. Ones that didn’t just happen by convenience, but through intention.

But then I looked around. And there they were. A table full of people I love. People who stayed until midnight or until dawn. People who helped clean up. People who showed up even when I invited them at the last minute. People I want to know for a long time.

And maybe I’m not behind. Maybe I’m just blooming on my own time, and in the end, my milestones will even each other out.

It’s not easy to be vulnerable about something like this. I get embarrassed about it sometimes, often because I’ve never done this before. That something so normal for other people felt impossible for me for so long. But I’m proud of myself. I really am. For pushing past the fear. For hosting. For laughing. For letting people see my space. For not being perfect.

There was no noise complaint. There was no awkwardness. There was no mess I couldn’t clean up. There was only sunlight, music, grilled food, and people who made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I’ve found my place.

I’m excited for more. More memories. More milestones. More slow, soft, late-blooming joy.

Because maybe I didn’t miss anything at all. Maybe I just started a little later. And maybe that’s okay.

xo,
Sheridan Guerrette
WhatSheridanSaid.com
Life Behind the Artist: Wed at 9/8C