So I tend to be a deep thinker, which can be good unless there’s been a recent bush party, and my brain’s bottom is lined with beer bottles and objects that should be touched only while double-gloved. That’s a long way of saying, pity my family unless I’ve had time to myself to process “stuff”. I lose touch with all the laughter and gratitude and many personal attributes that make me such a catch as mother and spouse.
The worst thing about being this way is I forget the simplicity and elegance of the solution.*
Fortunately, this weekend I was on the ball. I looked the ToolMaster straight in the eye and said, “Tool, I need a few days away, ” to which his response was a casual, “Sure.”
Meanwhile, his hands trembled with eagerness as he slipped me a roll of cash and the kids slipped upstairs to pack my duffel bag.
I kid, people! Plastic is way easier to use as a method of payment. Also, the kids wore shoes. For a while there, as they ran across the hardwood floor, I thought I’d stumbled into a clogging convention.
What did I with my time away, you ask? Did I treat myself to a movie and special dinner? Drive to my beloved Jasper? Meet a secret lover for a romp? Nope, the truth is far more sordid and…true.
I wrote in coffee shops.
And here’s the ironic part of this post: they were the exact same ones I frequent when I’m escaping the house to write. (Except on those occasions, they become the coffee shops in which I think about writing, read about writing, but don’t write; whereas, this weekend I got a crapload of work done.)
Do you follow me? Same work, same environment, but because I went there by choice and had a solitary place to retreat to, it became a completely different experience.
See, I think time away for an introvert is just like the rests in music. You can be humming along, tapping your toes, quite into the piece; then some genius of a composer inserts a blank space. It’s not much. In fact, technically it’s nothing. But it allows you to exhale.
After, when the orchestra begins anew, you come to the piece fresh.
Anyway, enough about me and my introverty self. Are you anything like me? 😉 Do your batteries recharge in the spaces of life? Or do you thrive in the midst of a crowd?
*Men aren’t the only creatures who need their cave time, y’know. Unless I’m secretly transgendered and haven’t acknowledged it to myself; in which case I have bigger issues than I— Doh! There I go again.