Confessions of an Introvert

     I recently saw a blog post on Scary Mommy explaining why the blogger doesn't want to be friends with other moms. And while I totally support her choices and understand the awkwardness of making mommy friends, it had a bit of a biting tone to it. Like she was putting down the other moms while justifying her standoffishness. Snark sells these days.
     But while I feel solidarity in her quest for solitary time, I am here to say, it really is me and not the other moms. I am an introvert. I've known this about myself since my mom would shout it through my door as I holed up in my fluffy, sea-foam green, unicorn-postered room with a good book.
     I like my space. I like silence so that I can hear myself think. That and so I can hear the voices in my head more clearly. Don't get the straight jacket yet, I'm a writer, not schizophrenic. And if you research the personalities of many famous writers, you will see that most of them were introverts if not downright curmudgeonly hermits.
     Now sometimes I can pass myself off as social, an extroverted introvert of sorts. I do enjoy parties, especially if I know all the people there and don't have to make a good impression. I can be naturally bubbly and outgoing, even dance on a table or two, sometimes cracking a clever joke or witty comeback. But I have to be in my element and feel comfortable with people first.
     But it takes me time to feel people out. This requires quiet observation, a study in trust to see if I can be my quirky self with this other human being. I've been shell-shocked by too many mean girls who laughed at my unusual comments or told me I was stuck up because I liked big words. No judgment here, some of those girls have grown up to be compassionate, loving moms and good friends. I just like to be sure of my audience before I let loose my own brand of weird.
     Some mommy acquaintance should be glad of my quiet because once I do feel comfortable with someone, it's hard to shut me up. I'm a whirlwind of thoughts and ideas. But I am more comfortable talking about ideas than chit-chat. Again, not a judgment but an observation. I stumble over my tongue trying to talk about soccer games or the weather or how many hours I've worked out or what I've eaten. My brain doesn't retain mundane details very long, it skips over them to ponder the mysteries of the human persona. That's why I often call myself the smartest ditz you'll ever meet.
     Meanwhile, other people who don't know me well or who have just met me have sometimes called  me stuck up. Makes me wonder if there's a resting snob face, as I don't believe I look bitchy, just detached and a little zoned out. I've also had people question by intelligence, but no I really am smart just a million miles away plotting out stories. So don't make me plot your demise in my next narrative by insulting me, it will make the Walking Dead season opener look like a children's book in comparison.

     So to all those moms at soccer practice and the school pick up line, it really was me and not you. You are lovely people with your own quirks but my kindle book on my phone is calling me like the wardrobe to Narnia into other realms and realities. And with two attention-demanding children in my house, I must soak up all the alone time that I can. It's the only time I can complete a full sentence in my head and discover those things that make me me. And I can be an amazing friend, when I'm comfortable.