I’m weary. Good-weary, but weary nonetheless.
Two days ago, I returned from a ten-day pilgrimage to Nashville with subsequent Tennessean stops in Franklin and Chattanooga. The journey continued onward with Georgian escapades in Watkinsville, Athens, Milledgeville, and Helen.
It wasn’t so much the constant moving around that wore me out. It was the people. Good people, but people nonetheless.
From the Storyline conference to visits with friends, family, and fans, the last 10 days utterly exhausted me. Even upon returning to southern California two days ago, I hit the ground running with social meals and birthday gatherings and —
I just needed to get away. I skipped church last night and went to a coffee shop for several hours instead. Came home and fell asleep by 8:30, woke up this morning after 9.
While I was no doubt physically exhausted after a momentous conference and hundreds of miles on the road and 3-hour jet-lag, I can’t help feeling my weariness stemmed more from my relational output of the last 12 days than my many hours spent on a plane or in a car or my collective lack of sleep throughout.
Don’t get me wrong — the conference and the conversations with many beloved individuals were amazing. I’ve never met with so many different people in such a short span of time. I kept asking my introverted self, “Who am I?”
It was easily my greatest return trek home in the 3 years since I exchanged that home for another.
And yet I’m deeply reminded of the introvert I am. The need to recoil and retreat and recharge lest I become choked into oblivion.
I need to get away from others, need to get away from you, need to miss you so that I can be fully present when I return to you.
Perhaps my fellow introverts can relate.
In the weeks to come, believe me, I will have plenty to say from my recent tour of the Southeast, including that momentous Storyline conference — a conference I’m very much still processing all these days later.
In the meantime, I’d love to share something with y’all. When I was home in Georgia, I ventured into the alluring painting world. Sure, I’ve painted with words before, but never with brushes and paint. For a first-time painter like me, I think it turned out all right.
Here’s a photo of my first painting. One I’ve now titled “Midnight Wandering”:
At the time, I didn’t read much into my painting as my eager hands dipped into the colors and slathered all those blues browns and greens onto an empty canvas.
Looking back on the painting, however, I now notice something glaring:
My traveling golden trout — he’s all alone. No other fish or frogs or water foul are present.
I painted “Midnight Wandering” toward the end of my Southern journey, and I was long wearied by this point of the trip. An introvert yearning to rediscover sweet solitude, even in the dead of night. Even on a once blank canvas.
As much as I’ve grown to appreciate my life, my personality, my story — this introverted facet of my being still frustrates me sometimes.
I love people. Really, I do. There are few things I enjoy more on this earth than meals and movies and coffee with others.
And yet without the solitude, that beloved connection and community fractures my soul. I’ve known this for 26 years, and yet I was reminded all over again my need as an introvert for lengthy recharging. Alone.
And yet without the people, I am nothing. Just a lonely trout aimlessly swimming about an abandoned pool at midnight, desperate to connect with a salamander or a stork.
Or just another fellow fish wandering in the dark.
Where do you fall on the extrovert-introvert spectrum? How do you “recharge”?
Being an introvert has always played a role in many of my ongoing insecurities and life stages. It’s not always easy to want people and not want people at the same time. Between both of my sisters and I, I am the introverted one in “three’s a crowd”. Both of them are extremely outgoing and never seem to have any problems when it comes to conversing with complete strangers or others. People have always been drawn to them and their personalities. They are people-people and they thrive on that. By no means is that a bad trait, but it meets my introverted heart in conflicting ways at times. As much as I love the concept and pursuit of real conversation and connection, there are so many times that the aforementioned leaves me restless and emotionally unresponsive, especially after I have reached the “time to retreat” point. That’s one of the hardest things to explain to them and others- after hours of conversation and activity, I become a little less engaged in the actual conversing part and become the silent listener because I am processing thoughts and other things while slowly shutting down my outward output. To them, it probably seems like I am not even listening or caring about the conversation at hand, but that’s not the case. It’s not that I don’t want to hear what they have to say or that I don’t appreciate their asking my opinion on something, but after the mental and emotional effort it takes to be fully involved for such a long time, I become overwhelmed. There are other times my soul cries out for retreat as well. I love the opportunities that God has given me at my church and the many leadership roles He has placed me in. It is all God that allows me to teach in group capacities and other areas, and it is all God who continues to use me in extroverted ways even though I feel like I am screaming “What am I doing?” on the inside. I’m quite positive I would have ran the opposite direction when it comes to stepping up and fulfilling church positions that place me constantly in front of others instead of being in the background if it wasn’t for God being my strength, especially when I feel the most inadequate. When I need to recharge, that is usually the time I journal, write poetry, read, or take a walk (sometimes being alone and having a mental walk is just as good as a physical one to clear my head and “just be”). A lot of times, my recharging mode consists of getting alone and talking out loud to God. More times than one, I find myself recharged after crying, which I do often in those times. Crying to myself, crying to God, just crying. Not always crying tears of sadness, and at times my soul finds refreshment in just having a good–cry session. Crying and rejoicing at the same time is unexplainable but it speaks to my heart and releasing all of that emotion is spirit-refreshing as well. I feel empty and new in the same frame of mind if that makes any sense. God is continuing to teach me that I am an introvert for a reason, and that He has great purposes for me to fill as an introverted-but-highly-favored child of God. I believe the same thing for you, Tom! I don’t know how much you see it, but I see a world of difference today in how you balance your introverted soul and your extroverted opportunities and callings than when I first met you. You are definitely growing in that area that makes all introverts a little nervous but extremely encouraged at the same time :). P.S. I love the part that you wrote about needing to miss people in order to fully return to them -perfectly said. And great job on your first painting! Can’t wait to see what else you do with that new found interest. Love you! Miss you!
Loved reading your introverted thoughts, Jenn. I feel the same way with regards to my own siblings, stuck somewhere on the opposite spectrum of their personalities. But I’m slowly learning to appreciate my personality and this invaluable component of “missing” others. I’m also learning to love extroverts…as freakish though they may be. Haha.
Love and miss you too! Thanks for your ongoing encouragement and friendship, Jenn. Can’t wait to reconnect again some time!