Sketchbook Share: An Introvert in a Family Full of Extroverts
Okay, I’ll admit it: I’m an introvert. That doesn’t mean I hate people. On the contrary, I love people, especially my own people, that is, the amazing, creative, joyful, noisy bunch that I have raised and now live with, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. These are my favorite peeps. And they are all, nearly all of them, extroverts. For those of you who are a bit rusty on the whole human nature schtick: introverts recharge by spending time alone. Extroverts recharge by spending time with others, even, it would seem, with introverts, (ironically).
I am not complaining. I think we are–by and large–good for each other. The extroverts in the family keep me social, grounded, outward-looking; they drag me out into the sunshine quite often and help me to remember how to keep a conversation going. For my part, I remind them to stop talking long enough to admire a glorious sunset that our Father created just for us, to stop talking long enough each day to enjoy the charms of a good book, to write a letter, or to draw a picture. (You can’t draw and talk at the same time, theoretically, as the two sides of the brain work against each other. I taught all my children how to draw at an early age.) I do think we are good for each other.
But during the long dark grey interminable winter, an introvert living in a busy, sometimes-chaotic, noisy, creative home, will, by her very nature, long for a private little hole into which she might crawl, now and again. For an hour. Or a day. Just someplace quiet.
I think I must have been longing for this respite one day when I scribbled down this cartoon. This is my life. Again, I am not complaining. But it’s a fairly true and accurate representation. Except that my hair looks better in the cartoon than in real life. (And yes, even the dog is an extrovert.)
That’s me (the introvert) in bed, with my adoring family (all extroverts, including the dog) crowding around me.