My introversion bubbles to the surface as something I need to actually manage the older I get. When I lack in effervescence, my flat water creates a stillness in others – one that is stagnant, not calm.
I once had personality types explained to me like this:
An introvert starts each day with five coins, and each social interaction costs them a coin. At the end of those five (or insert appropriate number for you), the person is left with nothing – they are not only broke, they are tapped out, tired, can’t do any more. There is nothing left to give. Being in deficient is dangerous for introverts like me as it causes burnout – physically and emotionally.
For the extrovert, each social interaction earns them a coin – and who can have too many coins? I envision them as Scrooge McDucks, diving into their bank of coins and performing a lackadaisical backstroke through the golden energy of others.
I think I’ve got three coins a week, and after that, I am DONE. I have no bank account, no vault full of back-up or rainy-day funds.
After a recent now-annual girls’ trip, I had it underscored that my alone time is not just needed, it is absolutely vital for my existence – and so that no one murders me when I get “The Moods.” Everyone flew in Friday, and by Saturday night, I was D-O-N-E. I love these women – with my whole heart – and this trip is usually the only time we’ll see each other, all at once, over the course of year. Friends since we were 12, going on 13, and some of them since elementary school, it is a precious time for us to all be in the same room with each other’s energy, simultaneously.
And yet, because I only have so many coins, I can only do so much with these oh-so-cherished ladies – especially when my coin purse was stolen Saturday morning with an emergent, private matter.
After an unexpected phone call, and a series of events after that, all I wanted was a bed to rest my emotionally exhausted head. “But, it’s girls’ weekend!” my brain shouts while my body curls into the fetal position.
And so I pull “a Molly,” and say they are welcome to go kayaking on the Colorado River without me, so I can rest my weary bones and brains. The dance begins where they ask if I’m sure, and if they should stay, and I assure them, in earnest, that it is better for all of us that I sit in my own simultaneous anxiety-induced sweat and debilitation, and deep breathe, followed by a fever-dream nap.
And it is.
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