The Addled Life of an Introvert

I am an introvert.

Apparently, I am part of approximately half of the world’s population.  Although there are varying degrees to which introversion takes hold.  I can’t say to which degree I am, but I can say that I really covet my alone time in order to recharge my batteries.

Lately, however, this has gotten harder and harder.  Even the simple public activities where I am not speaking with anyone has been draining.  The light in all this, however, is that there are a select few people who can help keep me going, mostly by just being the type of conversationalist I need in my day to day life.

Between family, work, sports and school, my days are packed, scheduled and all around don’t belong to me.  I really don’t know how much longer I can go before I disappear for a while.  Maybe I can find a quiet little hovel, bring my favorite book, and just sit down to enjoy.  I don’t require much, just some peace and quiet, maybe a glass of wine, and either a good book or some paper and a pen.

I grew up with extroverted parents and brothers.  I was the oddball out.  No one in my loud, obnoxious family could understand how I could just sit in my room and read all day, or play with my Legos, completely lost in another world of my own creation.  I remember being forced to go outside and play – I’d be out there for 10 minutes tops, and then I was back in my room.

Granted, there were other reasons for my hiding from the world, to be sure, but we won’t go into those things in this post.  My nature was simply to hide from it all, let the world pass me by while I enjoyed other worlds, even if only fantasy.  I still do this sometimes.

As I work on my stories, I find myself transported back in time, to when I was sitting on my bed, reading a good book, maybe Lord of the Rings, or the Chronicles of Narnia.  I picture myself in any one of those suspenseful moments, at the edge of my seat, excited and jumping out of my skin to see what’s going to happen next.  While I’m not that good of a writer, I do believe that this is where I’d like to be.

Being introspective, and seeing things from an outside perspective, even if it’s like looking at myself through a time lens, seems to help me grow.

I think in doing this, I have been able to maintain my childlike wonder.  My awe at the little things.  I remember freaking out a few years back because we were taught in grade school that plants “eat” light.  What I never realized until I was in the physics world was that plants literally catch photons…and for those of us who had never thought about that, and understand just how impossibly small a photon is…this is a huge deal.

I love the feeling of being able to be excited by something.  Even if I know the subject matter.  I love it when others share in my enthusiasm and we get even more excited over some mutual affectation.

What is maturity?  I fear maturity is an excuse to put aside the child within, and lose yourself to the hells of life.  Because of this, I live each day as though maturity is nothing more than an option.  Sure, I have my wife and daughters, and there comes responsibilities along with all of this, but that is simply a matter of growing older.  My hope is that I am able to foster and help maintain the same wonder and awe within my little girls.

As I’ve told my parents, I am happy with who I am, because it’s allowed me to keep or develop a part of me that so many tried to steal from me so early in my life.

But that tale is for another time.  Thanks for listening.


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