It’s March 2020 and the western world is introduced to The Lockdown. I’m told to pack up my computer, go home and stay home. As an introvert, I must admit this news was akin to winning the lottery. No more social façade, no more invitations to awkwardly decline, no more unnecessary conversations, no more interruptions or distractions. Business casual is replaced by loungewear. My coworkers are replaced by my kitty cat. My harrowing commute is replaced by an extra cup of coffee. Silence abounds.
In the early days and weeks, I blossom in this new world. Gone is the pressure to fit in, to act like an extrovert, to exhaustingly mould myself into society’s norms. Actually, society has started pressuring extroverts to act like introverts. Oh, how the tables have turned.
But as weeks turned to months, I began to notice a change in myself. Where are my quick witted replies? Where is my biting sarcasm? Where are my interesting anecdotes? My human interactions were limited to a quick hello from the cashier during my government-mandated weekly grocery shopping trip. So badly, I wanted to say something hilarious or interesting, but I dug deep and nothing was there. I was sliding further and further into my introversion. It was as if the daily social pressures of regular life had kept me sharp, kept me on my toes, kept me being me. Somehow, the joy of fully embracing my introversion had also caused the loss of the best part of myself.
But how could this be? I was living every introvert’s dream. I was living my dream. Then my quiet mind caught on to something – perhaps personality is just like a muscle; it must be worked, it must be trained, it must be used. I traded my TV dramas and mysteries for comedies, roasts and sitcoms. I started phoning my coworkers instead of emailing. I began writing about my solo travel experiences, amusing and unique stories trickling from my fingertips. Yes, my personality muscle was still there. It was weak, but it was there.
As restrictions eased over the summer, I knew I would have to work hard to counteract the lockdown’s atrophy. Physically distanced visits with family, phone calls, and more writing dominated my summer’s landscape. By autumn, I was feeling more like myself again, perhaps seventy percent of my former glory. My quips and retorts weren’t quite as sharp as they had been, but my edge was making a comeback.
And right on cue, enter stage right: another lockdown.
While I can’t say for certain what this lockdown will bring, or how long it will last, I am entering this period with a newfound respect for balance. Never before in my life have I sought out social connections – instead, I sought out ways to avoid them. Spending time alone was a necessity, the most efficient way to recharge my depleted social batteries. But when these daily obligatory interactions vanished, so did my need to recharge. Withdrawing deeper into myself, my personality became lost in lockdown. Being an introvert is who I am, but the persona I created to navigate through this extroverted world cannot be ignored. It must be tended to, nourished, connected.
So what is that makes me, me? Connection. Turns out it was connection all along.
