Am I introverted or extroverted?
The prevailing wisdom goes that "introverts" are people who feel drained by socializing, and need to be alone so they can "recharge their batteries", while "extroverts" are the opposite.
I'm not too preoccupied with which label to slap on my forehead, but I am very interested in understanding what drains me and what rejuvenates me. I have never felt comfortable with "extrovert" or "introvert" because I seem to need a healthy balance of both to feel like my needs are getting met. If I go without a certain kind of social interaction for too long, I get depressed. On the other hand, if I over-commit myself, I end up flaking out or getting over-saturated. Both of those are anathema to me. I hate disappointing people--it might be one of the most excruciating things that I can put myself through--so, breaking commitments, whether great or small, is something I always want to avoid. "Over-saturation" is slightly more complex; I have also heard it (aptly) described as being "people'd out".
Most people seem to consider introversion and extroversion to be mutually exclusive, "black" or "white" descriptors. Until a couple of seconds ago, I think I did, too. But the more I think about it, the more it seems like they can only be gradual traits; orthogonally related like the axes on a graph. They also feel more useful as a way to describe the ebb and flow of moods, as opposed to essential personality traits.
I don't feel comfortable saying, "I'm introverted." I feel much more comfortable saying, "Sometimes, I'm introverted. Sometimes, I'm extroverted." Or, "I'm very introverted and very extroverted." I love meeting people, but sometimes I can't stand the petty drama, and I'd rather curl up with some chai, a cat, and a book. And I love reading, but sometimes I can't stand the lack of laughter and personal connection, and I'd rather go out and make a fool of myself in front of some potential new friends.
Get ready for a totally unrelated subject change!
Oh no!
Here it comes!
I was watching Scrubs today, and as my laughter faded during the credits of one episode, I suddenly found myself wrestling with a crushing bout of nostalgic melancholy. This potent beast of emotional disarray blossomed from a simple observation: J.D. and Turk, the plucky protagonists of the show, have a casual-yet-intimate rapport that ranges from startlingly honest to stultifyingly awkward; watching the show is basically like watching me & my old friends hang out, except if we were all doctors. (God help our patients.)
For whatever reason, I still don't have a "crew" in Cleveland, despite falling readily into one when I was in high school, and again in college. I feed off of that energy--of complex and ritualistic inside jokes that eclipse real language so completely that "outsiders" can't understand half of our conversations; and of a deep shared connection that is as light-hearted or grave as we need it to be at the time. I miss it dearly, and as soon as I felt the Emo Melodrama Grip on my tender heart, I picked up my phone and compulsively dialed the guys until someone picked up. I talked with Mayan for well over an hour, and felt so much better about life. I'm thankful that I have so many people I can call when that kind of thing happens.
I've been quietly observing my own habits lately, trying to discern what to do (if anything) about my lack of day-to-day focus. Now that I'm not spending so much energy on judgment and self-flagellation, I'm starting to develop a better understanding of the shape of my "problem". I put "problem" in scare quotes because I don't mean it in the negative sense; more in the sense of "a math problem", like an equation to be understood. That distinction, itself, is part of my improved understanding.
There are two angles I'm approaching the problem from: On one hand, I'm thinking about it from a moment-to-moment "in the trenches" perspective. How can I arrange my environment such that I'm more likely to do the things I want to do? When I have certain thought patterns, what causes them? What stops them from happening, or diverts them? On the other hand, I'm thinking about it more "macroscopically": why do certain things keep coming back to me as "important"? What are my real motivations for doing those things? How do I respond differently to creative endeavors that involve commitments to other people, or just myself?