It’s an established fact that I’m an introvert, and I love being alone. Being around other people is exhausting.
I fell in love with writing because I get to be by myself with my own thoughts, even if I’m around other people.
I can get away from the real world for a moment. I can’t imagine what it’s like to not have a safe place, a safe space.
Writing sessions re-charge me. They give me so much energy. I gain more confidence to walk into a room like I own it. OK, maybe not. But I’ll always be grateful for stories, both other people’s and my own.
To be completely honest, this year has been so good and so bad, sometimes both at the same time. I’ve fallen in many senses, literally and metaphorically.
Some days, I want to tell myself just how proud I am, but I don’t know if I have the right words. I’m so lucky.
At one point, I kind of resented the fact that life goes on, but now I realize I have to go on.
I’ll be the first to say I’m not perfect. Far from it. But I’m doing my best. And no matter what happens, I’ll keep writing.
I might struggle at times. But I will keep going until I can’t.
This is what being an introvert means to me.
Most days, I rather stay at home than go out. For many reasons. I get anxious when I have to do something I’ve never done before. I feel safe at home, knowing I control more variables than if I were outside. I don’t have to socialize or see people for a long stretch of time. I never have to pretend to be someone I’m not in my own room. I can just be me.
More often than not, I like being alone. I have no problem with it. In fact, I prefer doing things solo. I once went to watch a movie at the theatres without anyone else, and it was one of the most enjoyable experiences I’ve ever had. However, being alone and being lonely are two different things.
All that being said, I don’t consider myself shy or quiet. If I like you and you like books, I’m anything but shy or quiet.
I think people call me shy because I don’t talk much, at least not in their presence. I’m probably either thinking about something or observing someone. Besides, I’m all for listening and learning rather than talking. When I talk, I’m saying things I already know. But when I listen, I learn stuff I don’t.
My close friends and family can attest to my being anything but quiet. I have a voice. I’m going to make myself heard when I feel the situation calls for it. Funny enough, I worry people can’t hear me, so I compensate by speaking louder. Also, I hate repeating myself. Hate it with a burning passion.
This has been a tiny look into what being an introvert means to me and only me.
I am an introvert.
That doesn’t mean I’m shy or afraid to speak my mind.
And if you get me going, I’m pretty much the opposite.
I think. I read. I write.
But I express when necessary. I communicate with purpose.
I am an introvert. And I am proud of it.
Most—who am I kidding? Not you and certainly not me. Every day, I sit and think. I’m constantly asking questions. About my life, about the world, about anything really.
So today while I sat and thought and asked, I also answered.
I pondered over how I would describe myself in as few words as possible.
My answer: Outspoken introvert.
I’d like to believe it’s a very accurate description of who I am.
Of course, I invite you to sit and think and ask: How would you describe yourself?