I relish my introverted life. I love the hours I spend by myself, reading, writing, planning, staring out the window, or "piddling," as my late husband's sister calls it. Some of us are "do-ers" and some of us are "be-ers," and I am a little of both.
When called upon to share my skills, I can do what's needed. Teach a class? Run a campaign? Babysit? Sing in the choir? Write about anything under the sun? I am there. But I am only there for as long as I can stand it, and then I am gone. Usually my body tells me when to retreat: I get sick, I can't stay awake, or I overeat. These signs tell me that it's time to say "no" for a while.
I have honed this process over the years, so that I no longer have to worry about being knocked down by illness; by body gives me fair warning. I retreat to that small corner or my world and do whatever is necessary to re-balance the delicate scale that is my psyche. Getting away and being alone is the first step.
Where to be alone, I wonder. Obviously, home, where no one but the cat will mar my peace. But at home there are papers to grade, meals to cook, and the endless accumulation of stuff to file or toss. Home is sort of like a velvet handcuff that feels good going on, but eventually keeps you from escaping.
I can be alone at almost any coffee shop where I am not recognized. I can be alone at a picnic table next to a lake, as long as it's not too hot. I can be alone in a library, as long as I am at least 50 feet from the nearest book; academic libraries work well for this. I can be alone in a church sanctuary, or in a hotel lobby. Often, my "alone places" pop us when I least expect them, and I am always happy to add another one to the list.
Is being introverted a blessing or a curse? Who knows? I only know that after so many years I would not change my side of the scale. It would take me another 60 years to learn to be an extrovert. My skills would be wrong for extroversion, and I would spend most of my time doing something wrong. So for now, I'll remain as I am.
Please don't look for me, I will be alone.
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