Sorry, I can't. Rain check?

There are many things I am not good at. Basketball, speaking French, spontaneity, dancing, to name a few. There are many things that I am good at. Running, writing, time management, getting enough sleep at night, to name a few. I believe one of the keys to an enriching life is a balance of activities you enjoy in which you excel and a few that do not bode particularly well for you. The perfect balance of fulfillment, the satisfaction of achievement, along with the challenge of learning something new, always giving yourself space to grow. However, one must be wary of succeeding to a fault. The anatomy of the obsessed artist, for example. Someone whose passion for their craft is the catalyst for their downfall, the lit fuse to their crash and burn. I have found myself at a crossroads, this particular issue, where I have enjoyed this specific behavior, this habit, this activity, one that is a supposed positive learned skill, too much to the point where it has begun to have the reverse effect on my livelihood. There are many things I am not good at, like deviating from my routine. There is one thing that I am excellent at, and that is enjoying my alone time. 

Is it possible to enjoy your solitude, your space filled with nothing but the presence of your wandering mind, too much? Ask me this a couple of years ago, I would have rejected this argument completely. Adolescent me, living in a room with my then-best friend, never eating a meal alone, constantly sharing my territory with someone else because that’s how it was back then. Ask me this question again now, and I would immediately admit that I have fallen victim to harmful introversion, finding that my social battery is rarely full and depletes instantly. Being able to enjoy your own company is an important skill to have, for anyone. I still believe this fullheartedly. You spend your whole life only in this one body, in this one mind; how can you expect others to find joy and fulfillment in your company when you can’t even do it yourself? It helps you foster self-awareness and independence. I have never learned more about myself, about how I interact with the world and with others, than when I spent time alone. 

It has become a problem. I think of myself as my own best friend. Net positive. But as I continue choosing to spend time with myself over other people, I have begun to isolate myself, ever so slowly over time, that I did not realize what I was doing until it was almost too late. Net negative. I never believed myself to be an introvert until I noticed that in order to recharge, I needed to be alone. This recognition slowly became a conscious practice, a necessity, the obsession with making sure I had enough alone time, that I had enough time to decompress, to shut everyone else out. My introversion suddenly wasn’t a character trait; it had become something that defined me as a person, dictated my routine, controlled external affairs, and my relationships with friends. I began to isolate myself, falling into guilty spirals of not spending enough time with friends, of not making the effort to reach out first, but then being unable to bring myself to make a change. My so-called much-needed rest went from an excuse to avoidant isolation. 

It’s ironic. Though I recognize that I have begun enjoying my alone time to a fault, I do still find comfort in the fact that, god forbid, anything happens in my relationship, between my friends, I have the wherewithal to be on my own. Obviously, I do not wish this to ever happen, but it’s like I am a doomsday prepper, piling up on toilet paper and canned goods, except it’s not toilet paper and canned goods, it’s my capacity to live life by myself. I prefer it. Revel in it. I would rather go shopping or sit at a cafe by my lonesome, not having to heed to anyone else’s desires or schedule. My freedom has become a colossal ego. When it comes to my relationship, if I were to ever lose my partner, I know it would be solely the grief that destroys me, not the need to relearn how to be on my own again. Co-dependency has not been an issue with us, so the thought that pure heartbreak would be my undoing is the scariest, the most bone-chilling possibility. 

I love my friends. I love my partner. There is no question about that. But do I love spending time with them more than I do myself? I couldn’t quite say. That’s where the issue lies. There is nothing wrong with enjoying alone time more than socializing, but when it strains my friendships, hinders my ability to make plans, to not be in bed by 8 PM on a weekday, that’s when something needs to change. I have talked about how inconvenience is the cost of community. Unfortunately, there is validity to the statement, one that I have yet to confront myself, one that. I have yet to conquer. If I want a village, I have to be a villager, and all the cliches that come along with that sentiment. But it’s not a change that can happen overnight. Ultimately, it’s my fatal flaw, a behavior I must circumvent, a habit I must rewire in my neural pathways. It is a muscle I must learn to retrain, something I have to force myself to do every so often. It will be uncomfortable at first, rebuilding my social battery from the ground up. But what I will gain from it will be worth the fatigue, worth the toll it may take on me physically and emotionally. What will come of it is greater than my mindset, greater than my ego, greater than me. 

I’m envious of those who have their village with them constantly. I’m jealous of the random FaceTime calls just to catch up, the late-night movie marathons on a random Tuesday, and the morning debriefs after a night out. I don’t want the minimalist version of connection where I keep everyone at a polite distance. I want the mess, the overlap, the loud brunches, and the accidental sleepovers on a weekday. I want to be known in real time, not just remembered fondly. I want my friends to witness the in-between moments. I don’t want codependency, but I want the consistency, the showing up for each other, proudly and without shame. Somehow, I have deluded myself into believing that independence is the highest form of maturity, but I know now that it’s not. I know I have the ability to stand alone, fully self-sufficient, but I know now that this isn’t the version of myself I want to be all the time. I never want to stop needing people. I don’t want to live my whole life proving to others and myself that I can do it on my own. I want to be more with people I love than just enough by myself.