Introversion

It would suck being a writer and being an extrovert.

Think about it – as a writer, your job description involves sitting for hours and hours alone, or as near to it as you can get, and writing. Interaction equals distraction equals procrastination equals no words equals failure as a writer.

I’m sure there are extrovert writers out there – hats off to them!

I’m an introvert. This is lucky, I think. It means my need for reflection and isolation also serves my need to sit quietly at a keyboard and type.

The psychological definition of introversion is not that you’re shy, or that you don’t like people, but that you are someone who gains energy through time spent alone, and expends energy through interaction with other people.

If you’re me, that means on a day like today, (a public holiday!), when you have committed with a sense of ‘eat your greens they’re good for you’ to a social engagement in the afternoon, you wake at 5.30am feeling tired in advance at the thought of all that conversation and interaction!

It’s not that I’m opposed to people, but I long for silence and solitude and I almost never get it.

I live in an apartment that is not overly large which I share with a toddler and an adult human who both demand bucket-loads of attention and clearly express their wish and need to interact with me at every possible moment.

It’s exhausting!

I get up as early as I can to have a small window of precious quiet time alone. This is my writing time – work time. It’s also the time I need to not go completely batshit crazy.

I think in some circles that might be referred to as ‘Me Time’ though the phrase makes my skin crawl.

It’s restoring-sanity-and-order-to-the-universe-time. Time to reflect, deeply and alone.

Right now, this minute, the garbage truck is collecting the garbage in the carpark across the way from our building. Any second it’s likely that my son will wake up – the garbage truck is one of his favourite things in the universe and he appears to have special sensors, he can hear it from miles away.

He almost never sleeps through it.

That means this minute, this moment, might be my only time alone for the next twenty-four hours.

I’m glad you could share it with me.

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