But more than all of this I am truly an introvert.
Although I hadn't yet learned the word, I absolutely knew this when I was a child. My hiding place was the roof of our house in Saskatchewan, one particular nook where I could disappear. I found it so comfortable there. You'd be surprised how rarely people look up. It was perfect for an introvert like me: hiding in plain view. In the middle of things yet not.
As much as I loved being alone then (still do), immersed in my imagination (still do), my thoughts morphing like clouds (still do), I wanted intimacy too. Still do. I crave it. People don't understand this about introverts. So I became an extrovert. And thank goodness I developed a lot of very useful people skills over the years even if it was exhausting.
But I don't play those games much anymore. And when I do I feel sort of fake. So I smile. Step back into the crowd, out of the light (onto the rooftop). Be standofftothesideish, not standoffish. Nor aloof. Or snobby. Please don't think that about me ever. I hate snobs. I detest pretension. It's just that now, in social situations, I know I'm not going to become friends with everyone. And I don't want to. And I certainly don't want to be the center of attention. Even so, I still want to know you.
Extroverts siphon their energy from others. If they don't have those sorts of opportunities for a while, they become bored, anxious, even angry. At least this is how it seems to me based on the three extroverts I love and live with. (Well maybe one of them is a little like me?) I am the opposite. Yet I must remember this about them, be understanding. At the same time though, I hope they don't forget about me because although I may not be outgoing, I am certainly ingoing.