I grew up a shy kid, but I shook it off when I was 16 or 17. I worked at one of the largest movie theaters in the country [at the time] and that required a lot of talking to strangers, be it to take their popcorn order, or to show them where their theater was, or to address a sold-out auditorium of about 300 people to ask them to silence their cellphones and make room for other people, in the most entertaining way possible.
From then, I went to college, where I had to get out there and introduce myself if I wanted to make friends or study partners. I studied abroad, where I was one of few Americans and needed to feel a sense of belonging, so I had to reach out to other Yankees in the fatherland. Fast forward to business school, where networking is practically a part of the curriculum. Then to working in private equity, a very people-driven business that requires meeting new people every day or talking to people you hardly know as your job.
So, when I quit my job and started writing my book a year and a half ago, it was a very tough transition.
After the first day or so, I went home and cried, not used to the solitude and feeling crippled with loneliness. I started calling people after work, just so I could talk. (There were days when, if I didn’t order lunch, I could go an entire workday without speaking to a soul.) I haven’t been much of a phone talker with the advent of email (I am a Millennial who prefers email over text, thanks), but I needed the real-time human interaction. I craved going out to lunch with people. I craved going to networking events, even though I now had a nontraditional career.
But, then, something shifted.
As I dug more into my first draft, I became overwhelmed with the desire to finish it, so I worked longer and longer hours writing and thinking. I all but stopped going to networking events because it felt weird to tell professional women that I was taking time out to pursue a creative project that focused on me. With that, I felt that I was ruining my professional credibility, but also inviting a whole host of questions about my book that I wasn’t ready to answer yet.
I found myself okay with spending hours and hours alone, some days not talking to anyone at all, especially if my husband worked late and left early, which was common of his workdays in NYC.
As a result, I became an introvert.
And I have struggled since.
This past weekend was the most social I’ve been all year: lunch with a friend, dinner with another friend, volunteering at church, our real estate agent’s holiday brunch, my friend’s game night.
And I was wiped the f*ck out after church.
I napped, and that helped restore my energy for the last two events, but I needed my spouse to encourage me to go to both of them because I was so drained. It felt like pouring too much of myself out into other people even just having a meal. (And my friends aren’t needy, so it wasn’t like these were emotionally taxing conversations at all.)
I went to another event last night, a talk at the Kennedy Center, and after, there was a small reception on the stage of the Eisenhower Theater, which was really cool. But I’d used all my social ammo over the weekend, so I struggled to start or maintain conversation with anyone, and found an excuse to leave as soon as I was done with my wine and crudités.
I think feeling weird like this in social situations is fine for the time that I’m spending writing as my day job. If I decide to get another type of day job and writing becomes my part-time thing, this could become a problem.
But I guess I’ll just have to be patient with myself the way I was when I started this whole thing. I’ll go through the next steps and come out the other end of it a different person, just like everything else in life.