Question: “How do I know if I’m an introvert?”
Answer: “You know you’re an introvert if you’re ready to go home before you leave the house.”
Okay. So, I’m a dyed-in-the-wool, born-and-bred, certified (certifiable?), hard-core, bad-to-the-bone introvert. There were times in the last year that I used (misused?) the Covid guidelines to avoid parties, large groups, grocery stores and other introvert-averse activities. But at this point, even I, dedicated introvert that I am, feel a touch over-isolated.
I actually long to shake the hand of someone I’ve just met. I want to touch a shoulder. I want to sit close to a friend. I want to play bridge. I want to pass around a birthday card. I want to laugh until droplets happen. I want to leave my mask at home. I want something on my calendar other than a doctor’s appointment.
All of those things will have to wait, however. And wait they will. Impatience has no reward at the moment. Which is so annoying since impatience is one of my few skills. Nevertheless.
The things I miss and long for are small things. Little bits and pieces. Unremarkable moments. That’s what I want. And that is big chunk of my hope for 2021.