Confessions of an Introvert
My weekends consist of an average of 56 hours.
Of the past 56 hours, I believe I only spent 6 in solitude.
This includes one disappointingly short, broken-up night of sleep (whereupon I awoke to discover an apartment filled with house guests) and my commute to Salem and back on Saturday morning.
So here I am, Sunday night, preparing myself to begin yet another work week, and reflecting on the fact that my much-needed weekend "alone time" consisted of attempted sleep and cruise control up and down i-5.
No wonder I'm so exhausted.
Don't get me wrong, this weekend was a blast.
In addition to multiple birthday celebrations (one of which included a surprise group serenade for the birthday girl, thereby fulfilling my "sometimes I wish life were more like a musical" dream), time spent in my favorite coffee shop, church, grocery shopping, and a long overdue house-scrubbing, there was also some serious giggling with my favorite red head,
I laughed more than I have in a long time. I danced. I threw darts (with embarrassingly poor aim). I made new friends. I ordered a cheeseburger at 2:00am. I journaled. I cooked. I ate food covered in gravy. I witnessed a serious conversation between my friends and an iconic Portland man about the quality differences in artificial severed limbs, which he uses to decorate his bike. I lost a bet. I participated in the aforementioned group birthday serenade. I moved into a different area of ministry at my church. I brushed my teeth more than I washed my face (or my hair for that matter). I stayed up late. I woke up early. I learned one of my friends was featured in a "Babysitters Club" book. I bragged about my baby sister. I skyped South America. I smiled. I stretched. I reunited. I reminisced.
I talked to a lot of different people about a lot of different things over the course of my 50 hours of socialization.
And yet, I can't tell you one honest-to-God, deep conversation I had this weekend.
I had moments of raw honesty. Tiny snippets of truth. But for the most part, my interactions were fairly surface level.
So here is my confession as an introvert: very few things exhaust me more than small talk.
It goes against every one of my natural instincts to inauthentically connect with those around me.
I love my friends (I've said it before, and I'll say it again: if you do not have a group of girlfriends with whom you can trust your very life, make that your number one priority TODAY) and I truly loved this weekend. I needed the adventures. I've been cooped up in my office and this apartment for far too long.
But as I snuggle on my couch reflecting on the past few days of my life, I find myself feeling depleted in a unique way. It's the classic introvert/extrovert dilemma: for some people, the more socialization they receive, the more energized they feel. For others, it's the opposite, and they recharge in solitude.
If this weekend taught me anything, it's that I am somewhere in the middle. I absolutely crave alone time, but I also thrive in deeply intimate conversations. If this weekend taught me anything else, it's that I need my own tube of red lipstick. It only took me 27 years to learn how to put my pasty white skin and blonde hair to use, and now that I've learned the trick, I'm afraid I might never be the same without it.
Love you.
Seriously.
Of the past 56 hours, I believe I only spent 6 in solitude.
This includes one disappointingly short, broken-up night of sleep (whereupon I awoke to discover an apartment filled with house guests) and my commute to Salem and back on Saturday morning.
So here I am, Sunday night, preparing myself to begin yet another work week, and reflecting on the fact that my much-needed weekend "alone time" consisted of attempted sleep and cruise control up and down i-5.
No wonder I'm so exhausted.
Don't get me wrong, this weekend was a blast.
In addition to multiple birthday celebrations (one of which included a surprise group serenade for the birthday girl, thereby fulfilling my "sometimes I wish life were more like a musical" dream), time spent in my favorite coffee shop, church, grocery shopping, and a long overdue house-scrubbing, there was also some serious giggling with my favorite red head,
photo booth shenanigans,
red lipstick,
and my most favorite Portland Pastime: Brunch!
 |
| (^) These photos (and many, many more) were taken during the hour and a half long wait for our table this morning. |
I talked to a lot of different people about a lot of different things over the course of my 50 hours of socialization.
And yet, I can't tell you one honest-to-God, deep conversation I had this weekend.
I had moments of raw honesty. Tiny snippets of truth. But for the most part, my interactions were fairly surface level.
So here is my confession as an introvert: very few things exhaust me more than small talk.
It goes against every one of my natural instincts to inauthentically connect with those around me.
I love my friends (I've said it before, and I'll say it again: if you do not have a group of girlfriends with whom you can trust your very life, make that your number one priority TODAY) and I truly loved this weekend. I needed the adventures. I've been cooped up in my office and this apartment for far too long.
But as I snuggle on my couch reflecting on the past few days of my life, I find myself feeling depleted in a unique way. It's the classic introvert/extrovert dilemma: for some people, the more socialization they receive, the more energized they feel. For others, it's the opposite, and they recharge in solitude.
If this weekend taught me anything, it's that I am somewhere in the middle. I absolutely crave alone time, but I also thrive in deeply intimate conversations. If this weekend taught me anything else, it's that I need my own tube of red lipstick. It only took me 27 years to learn how to put my pasty white skin and blonde hair to use, and now that I've learned the trick, I'm afraid I might never be the same without it.
Love you.
Seriously.
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