It was 6:15 pm when I entered the building. Young woman at the front desk, with a Julia Roberts' smile, asked my name, checked the list, nodded and said 'It's on the third floor. Lifts that way.'

I was on time, with still a few minutes to spare. I don't like to be late.

When the lift door opened, I heard 'It's on the third floor' towards another person, so I held the door. I was deep in thought when I heard '…awful weather..' or something like that. The young brunette I held the lift door for started easy small talk, typical for Brits.

Door closed. The lift moved. I missed half of her sentence.

Should I ask her to repeat? It was something trivial about the rain.

I chose an easy outcome. I said 'yeah'.

Two floors in a lift never took so long.

As English is my second language, I often travel in my mind in my mother tongue. So when someone speaks to me in English, I need a second or half to switch on the dual-mode.

That may require asking to repeat or quickly reassessing content from the context, something I had to learn quickly. But if I hear words 'rain', 'weather', I'm out.

As a non-British person, I can't do small talk. A trivial conversation about the weather, or a meaningless question 'how am I' makes me cringe.

That, however, has an impact on other areas of my life — business or career.

The lift door opened. The brunette and I walked into a light, airy room filled with the noise of multiple conversations. The host welcomed us at the door with an honest smile and a friendly yet professional and polite half-hug. She briefly explained what's going on, where the drinks were (lead my way), the toilets and where we can drop our soaked coats.

I moved swiftly towards the large table against the wall to pick up the blue can of Brew Dog. As I navigated through a maze of trios and couples engrossed in intense conversations, I realised I would struggle here. I already felt disconnected, separated, and uninvolved.

I did not know anyone, and nobody knew me. Yet all seemed to have gone along quite well.

I spotted some people welcoming each other like old friends, an easy signal that they are not as strange to each other as I was.

'That may have been a waste of time' came through my mind.

Even though I'm generally an easy and approachable guy, quite confident and straightforward, I struggle in a networking environment.

To be fair, that wasn't a typical networking event like I used to attend 15 years ago. Those were filled with small business owners, wishing to sell their services over a cup of coffee and a croissant.

This one was filled with designers, so people of my profession.

Yet, I felt uncomfortable.

Yes, I was tired.

Yes, the train journey to London was, as expected, delayed and full.

All that, and the fact I didn't know anyone, made me feel off.

I stood upon the wall and began observing people, hoping for a glimpse of hope that someone would be interested in me.

But no.

I moved my eyes over people, trying to remember all the tips and tricks for those kinds of nights I was given. This is a moment when I regretted passing on reading the book 'How to Talk to Anyone' by Leil Lowndes. I reckon I should rethink that decision.

Everybody was in twos or threes, deeply involved in conversations. That includes the brunette from the lift. If I only responded to her in the lift, I might have built a first contact to build upon throughout the evening,

Every time I find myself in a networking-type environment, I struggle. It's worse if I don't know anyone. The main reason is that I don't know what to talk about with people I've just met.

Then, there is the group aspect. People usually form some kind of duos or trios. Or sometimes even larger circles and talk. I always feel that walking into the group when they are deeply in the chat, interrupting, forcing them to reintroduce themselves for the 10th time, is awkward and hard.

Instead, I wait for someone to talk to me.

And this is what I call the Outsider Paradox.

As an outsider, I struggle to get in the group, so I don't. Yet, the group, even if they notice me, assume I'm fine, and if I want to get involved, I would. Therefore, they do not invite me.

I will not engage.

They will not either.

It may be me, or my cultural thing, but I do not like talking about myself when not asked. I always feel that nobody gives a shit who I am and where I come from.

I do, because I feel that way. I'm not interested in other people's lives at all.

Well, okay, all apart from my closest friends and family. And still I'm interested in only what they tell me. I don't observe, analyse, ask, or question. Ain't no my business.

But some people genuinely love that vibe.

To be honest, if you ask me a question, I will tell you the whole story. But to start telling you about my journey on my own, I'd need to be in a different state and environment, shall I say.

The outsider paradox is interesting 'cause it makes you vulnerable in certain situations, yet it may not be a driving factor of your personality. I tried to dive deeper and discover the reasons behind my feelings, and this is what I have come up with so far.

• I have been working from home since 2020 and in the same company since 2021, so I keep orbiting around the same people. Even if I meet others in calls, we usually have one thing in common — the same company, same business interest
• When I run user interviews, I always have a goal in mind. I know who I talk to, and what about, and I am prepared.
• Networking strips me down of all my assets, leaving bared and vulnerable. It's due to the fact that these events are directed towards discovery with plenty of unknowns.

I find it annoying, intriguing and disturbing. I wonder if it may be the case of language or a culture, because among my countrymen, I feel more relaxed.

I looked at the watch; the panel discussion was about to start. Others began to shift towards seating, too. It was like a Netflix movie — a never-ending stream of positive vibes passing by me. I grabbed a chair and sat down in the last row. Back in the 90s and 00s, all the cool kids sat at the back.

Times changed.

Now it's a sign of your esteem, curiosity, self confidence if you sit in the front row. There you are exposed, visible, vulnerable, yet you can see and hear better. But you look engaged. The back seat is safe, invisible.

I left shortly after the panel discussion ended.

And I missed the big chance of talking with one of the design leaders I really admire. I saw her surrounded by a group of people, so I gave up.

To be honest, it wasn't a wasted evening after all.

The panel was interesting.

It pushed me to write 3 articles within 3 days.

It just didn't come up as I hoped.

The lift door opened, and I walked in alone. Button G was green and embossed, yet I still had a second of doubt, is it the right one. I'm so used to pressing 0.

The woman with Julia Roberts' smile was gone. I passed the front desk and stood in the gate to zip my coat. The guy next to me pulled out his umbrella from a backpack. I recognised him from the event upstairs. He also left earlier.

'You got an umbrella. Clever' I said while walking out in the rain.

'Planning ahead, he responded.

I turned my head around, nodded towards him, and moved through wet, busy Soho to my hotel.