Being introverted used to bother me. As the years pass, however, I’ve grown more comfortable in my reclusive skin – even when my eczema flares up.
I used to think, “What’s wrong with me? Why am I so averse to social interaction?” Then I realized the one person who can make me happy has been in my head all the time. I may seem like a quiet soul, but put me in a room with my own thoughts and you can’t shut us up.
I love sitting all day in a chair while contemplating back support and Barcaloungers. The fire department occasionally breaks down my door to see if I’m alive. That’s enough social stimulation for me.
There was a time I tried to fit in with the rest of the world. I even belonged to a sorority in college. My sisters meant well, but there’s a name for that kind of non-stop friendliness, affection and emotional support: hazing.
Relationships have always been challenging. I dated one woman for three years. We were inseparable until she returned from her job overseas. She was a great gal but I felt lost without our long periods of separation, plus I missed the mind-blowing long-distance sexting.
My parents are extroverts and have never understood me. How else can you explain them fixing me up with Frank Sinatra Jr.? (Nice guy, though. When it became obvious we weren’t hitting it off, he sent me Nancy’s phone number.) It’s only been recently I’ve been able to look at them indirectly in the eye and say, “Mom, Dad, I love you.”
A wise man – okay, a pretty bright lyricist – once said, “People who need people are the luckiest people in the world.” For some people maybe, but not if you don’t mind a fireman’s ax crashing through your door now and then.
Cecile Singular wrote the best-selling book, Become a Millionaire without Leaving Your Closet.