You’ll barely remember how you looked that night. You’ll remember whether you danced.

Memory keeps behavior and throws away appearance. A year from now the details of how you looked will be gone, and what remains is whether you were in it or standing at the edge managing yourself. Self-consciousness feels like the safer option at the time, and it is the one that reliably produces the regret.

Do the thing at the next occasion where you would normally hang back. Dance badly, sing the words, say the toast. Nobody is keeping the record you think they are keeping, and the only record that survives is your own.