Hugs from friends, yes; handshakes from strangers, no: Being an introvert in self-isolation

FlowersI have been in self-isolation since March 15th—the day before my seventh wedding anniversary. Except for picking up a 10-year-old webcam from a friend (which turned out to be incompatible with my 9-year-old PC), dropping Easter dinner off to my dad and grandmother, and a couple of other instances, I’ve been home, not being bored. My husband is the one who goes to the store to get supplies (doesn’t that phrase sound apocalyptic?). He always takes hand sanitizer with him and wears a bandana for a mask, the latter of which I had originally bought for my daughter’s Halloween hobo costume.

Homeschooling a 6-year-old, taking university-level classes that weren’t structured to be online classes, and working full-time (including trying to learn all the ins and outs of Zoom for my college writing tutoring job), on top of trying to ensure I get outside time (I’d go batty without a backyard), working on my “Great American Short Story” (for this year’s Saturday Evening Post’s “Great American Short Story contest”), and binge-watching The Mary Tyler Moore show on Hulu before our free trial runs out has been my life.

I enjoy not having to drive out to University twice a week, trying to find a place to park, lugging an umbrella around, spending money on lunch out, and being stuck there 5 hours (even though my classes are only 2 1/2 hours combined). My writing workshop class isn’t the same, but now that it’s almost over, I realize I could’ve been drinking during class (instant extroversion), but I’m not really a wine person at 11 in the a.m. (That’s what mimosas are for.)

Even though I’m an introvert, I like people—I just don’t like being around them all the time—but being on lockdown means I am in lockdown with my husband and daughter, who are home all the time. Such has been an adjustment, but we’ve adapted. I’m glad that I no longer feel overscheduled as that takes time away from just being (doing all the time gets tiresome).    

I do (not overdo) social media, so I keep in touch with friends and acquaintances. Though it’s not quite the same (and it never will be), it’s something to keep us connected and sharing stories (not just COVID ones), photos, funny memes, random thoughts, and Instagram poems. I thought staying home would be harder than it was, but I’ve realized I need more time in green or blue spaces—more natural therapy than the retail kind. I’ve also learned that when I order things online, it’s a more deliberate choice than when I’m filling up my cart at Target. As for the beach, I don’t love it like I used to. It’s a real drag having to lug an umbrella, chairs, and cooler a quarter-mile trudging through sand. However, if there were no people or waves (and I already lived on it), I would like it more.

Yes, I miss exercising in the pool at the Y, going out with friends (as rare as that is, considering my closest friends are students, have kids, jobs, etc.), browsing the big-box bookstores (where I can read the children’s books to see if they’re good before I buy them), walking around the craft store to get ideas, and even grocery shopping, but those things will be there when this pandemic ends.  

Knowing that makes all this easier.

Though I dig the social distancing (I dislike crowds, not people), I’m not making new connections, and I realized I wouldn’t have the friends I do had I not met them in person first. Though I miss making new friends (or trying to, anyway), I keep in mind this song:

Make new friends,
But keep the old.
One is silver,
And the other, gold.

Brownie points if you figure that one out.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s