Our evening walk went a little like this:
Alex: I just feel like, like a…. slug.
Me: Well you did sit in front of the TV all afternoon….
Alex: No, I mean, like, I don’t do anything. Besides work. I need a hobby.
Me: Ohhhhh. Yeah. You should totally get a hobby. Ever since I started my blog, I am much happier. Maybe you should paint again. The oil paints are just begging to be used… or, you’ve been really interested in ancient history. Let’s go pick out a few books for you to read!
…… And that is where I was cut off. With this:
Alex: Noooo. Not that type of hobby. I need to do something with people. Not by myself. I need to find something to do with people.
There it is. The great divide between the introvert and the extrovert. In one tiny, everyday word: people.
I am married to the world’s greatest extrovert. I can’t take him anywhere. I lose him. He makes friends quicker than I can notice a new face in the crowd. He can strike a conversation up with the dullest of human beings. And he enjoys it. Hell, he survives by it.
I just don’t get it. (I say sitting in an empty Starbucks, alone, happy as a clam because nobody is around to bother me, James Taylor singing from above, the venti chai tea next to me, and my Toshiba.) People exhaust me.
Sometimes I think that the word introvert is misconstrued. It’s not that I’m shy- good gracious I’m not shy. And it’s not that I don’t enjoy company, and friends, and family. I do. It’s that I drain when I am around company. I recharge when I find time to be alone. And then, I can safely return to society to do it all over again.
Is it surprising that my hobby of choice involves me, a lonely me, without any people around? It shouldn’t. I love the social aspect of blogging. And I love writing- each one of these little posts is a love note to the world, I suppose. But I can do it quietly, free from distractions, right here in an 18th century basement sipping on my 21st century pumpkin spiced latte. Alone. And that suits me just fine.
*Filed under Personal Life*