Being an introvert can be hard…(I’m an introvert, in case anyone didn’t know). Being an introvert can feel like you’re constantly trying to be more extroverted. Constantly pushing yourself to be more sociable, and constantly brushing up on your people skills.
We usually don’t talk about the benefits of being an introvert. Only the negatives. Only the hardships. But there’s one big plus to being an introvert:
Introverts our comfortable being by themselves, they’re comfortable being and doing things alone. We’re strong, independent people who don’t need no nobody.
(This can also be an introvert’s greatest weakness. Because like any other person we do need people.)
There’s something very comforting, something very encouraging about being able to hit the open road alone and be fine with it. It’s empowering to be alright in your own silence. If an introvert ever needed to hit the hills and become a hermit, they’d be fine.
And that’s great. Because while being with people can drive an introvert bonkers, being alone can drive an extrovert bonkers.
Being alright in your own company is a gift, because you never know when that will be the only company you have.
(that….was not supposed to feel as depressing as it just did….)
My sister and I went down to the Columbus Zoo. (It’s like the best zoo ever and we spent six hours there and still didn’t cover the whole thing.) (We also do move like grandmas when it comes to how long we stay at each exhibit. Our actually walking pace is fast, our staring pace is very slow.)
While we were at the zoo, we went into one of the aviaries (yes, there are multiple. No, they didn’t have any pterodactyls), with those double doors on either end so none of the animals fly (or run) out.
Anyway, it was small. There were birds flying, magpies swooping, some weird little white bird stalking the edge of the path.
And there were zookeepers. Several of them. And there were there for a very particular reason.
You see, there wasn’t just birds in the aviary. There were muntjacs. Muntjacs are these really cut tiny deer. There were about three of them wandering around, keeping off the path.
As we entered, the zookeepers were standing about, hands behind their backs, looking casual, looking pleasant. But there was a vigilance under their pleasantries, they were coiled and ready to pounce. Because they were there to protect the muntjacs from any misbehaving guests.
And so they watched us. Watched us like they were saying, “don’t touch the muntjacs. Don’t go near the muntjacs. Don’t even THINK about the muntjacs. You can look at them, but only for 0.1 seconds.”
I had to get out of there, so I practically shoved my sister through the aviary.
I would have liked to watch the muntjacs, but not if I was being watched too.