One of the principal differences between introverts and extroverts lies in where they draw their energy from. Extroverts are energized by external sources making them, on the whole, social beings — but this doesn’t necessarily mean they are outgoing.
Meanwhile, more introverted people, while they can be social, are recharged from within; I find myself fitting into the second category. I need time to recharge my batteries away from others, but, as a fairly social person, I tend to deny myself this time.
Instead, I opt to fill my social calendar, often feeling the need for company wherever I go. For a long time, the idea of going to the mall or the movies alone truly terrified me. I lived in a peculiar and somewhat sad contradiction — I was an introvert that didn’t want to be alone.
Discovering how to love the time I spend by myself has been one of the most important lessons I’ve learned — a lesson from which anyone could benefit. Coming into my own has been about doing things for myself, by myself.
In our ‘alone, together’ society, you may not be with somebody, but you are never without company.
I still find that I rarely make plans with myself. At this point in my life, I have the luxury of centering my schedule around myself entirely, yet I constantly fill my weeks with plans to meet this friend or that relative — a habit that leaves me exhausted.
But, a funny thing happened when I started to commute a lot by transit. I hated it, but only at first. Then the realization came to me that the many hours a day I spend on the bus is prime ‘me’ time. I could make the most of this.
I hear people cursing our place in time and the lack of unity in our community, something which may seem prominent on the bus. You can stand within a few centimetres of another human being for an hour on the 135 without interacting at all. We live in the great anomaly of being ‘alone, together.’
For some, this is a shame, but I call it a beautiful gift. You can be in a highly social and stimulating environment, but be left entirely to your own thoughts. It creates a sort of liminal headspace. You may not be with somebody, but you are never without company.
Alone on transit, I think deeper, I look around more keenly. You can get a lot done in your own head on the bus. You could perfect a thesis, make a day plan, perhaps be struck with inspiration for an introspective editor’s voice. The possibilities abound.
If not for my cross-zone travels, I might never have noticed how striking the outline of the North Shore is at dusk. I might not have laid eyes on that rapier duelling school on Hastings St. that my friend and I need to go to in order to fulfill our dream of reenacting the final scene of Hamlet in the style of Kenneth Branagh.
I’ve found that when I’m out and about on my own, the world seems like a place of opportunity and I’m free to make what I want of it.
So, I implore you: don’t let the fear of awkward loneliness keep you from things you enjoy. Take that solo walk around the seawall. Go to that new Tom Cruise movie that you’ve been too embarrassed to ask anyone to come to. Why deny yourself that sweet Tom Cruise action because no one is free on your day off?
