OK, not ‘you’ in particular, if you're a friend of mine reading this - please don’t be offended. I mean more just… people. Sometimes being bundled up on my new-found love, the corner seat of our sofa, amongst my thoughts and 16 episodes of a programme I’ve already watched endlessly is where I want to be. It’s not even a fully-fledged corner sofa so to speak, I’m totally exaggerating. It’s more like a standard sofa with an extra piece stuck onto the end. But I can slouch there quite happily for hours eating, watching TV, falling asleep, reading - all the good stuff.
So really, two facts have been established here. Sofas with built-in leg-room are a complete necessity. Oh, and sometimes I don’t want to see anyone.
I don’t think the latter makes me a bad person though, right? I’m pretty sure I’m not alone with this feeling either. Yet somehow I continue to tell myself it’s because I’m slightly introverted which, with all its misconstrued negative or weak connotations in tow, will inevitably spiral into the abyss of guilt, overthinking and panic about seeming boring. I mean come on, I’ve just rambled on about how a chair has essentially transformed my life and brought me genuine happiness.
Of course, people need people; in certain situations there would be no getting by without the guidance of others. But like so many, I find the constant juggling act of life and it’s differing burdens challenging at times. And if someone’s socially thriving, portraying an external image of seemingly brilliant success and all the popularity that comes with it, surely that doesn’t necessarily synergize with wanting to be extroverted. The blur of people and social plans must require some breathing space - in time for some or more frequently for others.
Why then is there so much talk about people being either extroverted or introverted? So many seem to willingly identify themselves as one or the other that it can feel odd to not fit one of these two brackets perfectly. I would say that there’s no dictionary definition for a hybrid of the two, but I’d be lying; one quick Google search revealed that to be an ‘Ambivert’ is to be someone who possesses a balance of extrovert and introvert personality features.
I think that’s me, and a considerable chunk of us all for that matter.
Before publishing this article, I asked on my Instagram whether people ever just don’t want to see anyone. Whether they find themselves not wanting to socialise or make any effort, all despite there being nothing wrong at that point in time. I had a feeling the answer would sway towards ‘yes’, but I wasn’t expecting 100% of the results to go this way. I guess we’re all familiar with people-avoidance mode - self-professed introverts and extroverts alike.
I’m fortunate enough to have some fantastic people whose lives are intertwined with mine. There are things I can safely say I would have never gotten through without them. And as I’ve grown and learnt from experiences in each element of my life, I feel somewhat comfortable speaking in front of others and being present in social situations. Sure, I can still be horrendously awkward to the point of making myself cringe so much I want the ground to swallow me up. But on the whole, I’m a relatively confident person and I feel at ease in other people’s company… sometimes.
Other times, I don’t want to see anyone. I need to hit the reset button and alleviate the pressure, and I’m becoming aware that maybe I need to do this more than others. I relish the opportunity to be alone. A sublime treat comprising a whole load of nothingness with me, myself and I (and a bag of chocolate). I don’t need any wild plans - a lot of the time I might actually have stuff that needs sorting but, of course, it doesn’t get done (all part of the fun) - I have the next day to worry about everything I haven’t done in all the time I blatantly had to do it.
I read an article by Bella Mackie recently where she referenced our tendency to ‘shut the door to the world at the end of the day and feel safe and familiar’ when at home. This summarised the sensation perfectly, however it doesn't have to be refined to the four walls of home. Yes, there really are places beyond my formidable sofa. Being joyfully alone can be anywhere for anyone. It could even be in a public place, where noise-cancelling headphones save the day and provide a total antithesis to what the eyes absorb. For hours on end or just for a brief moment.
During lockdown, sometimes all I wanted to do was go and sit on a bench by the water with a book. I didn’t want to speak to anyone, I’d even embarrassingly hide behind the pages if someone I recognised walked past on their one allocated walk of the day. Safely hidden in my mind; brandishing a bizarre (but somewhat socially acceptable at the time) greasy-haired legging-wearing hunched over exterior for passers-by to admire.
Inevitably, there’s a guilt-ridden side to this lifestyle that rises to the surface when choosing to sway towards alone time while others are together. It’s common to notoriously want to please people, no matter how much today just isn’t the day. It’s either that and a good nights’ sleep, or a last-minute cancellation loosely strung together by a white lie (come on, we’ve all been there) followed by a restless night watching Instagram stories of what we missed.
So we persist.
And often it’s worth it; as long as that well needed me-time is scheduled in like these frequent plans so often are. It’s not selfish to say no to someone. Regardless of someone’s personality, I believe that craving a precious piece of alone time is incredibly normal.
If someone I care about needs me there, I’ll be there - no doubt about it. But the likelihood is they’re also the person I trust to understand why sometimes, I might not want them here.