Sorry I am late, I didn’t want to come

Photo: Sonny Vandevelde - Viktor & Rolf SS19 Haute Couture Fashion Show Paris Backstage

Have you ever felt too guilty to decline an invitation to go out with a friend but you were not motivated enough to actually pull yourself off the couch, change out of whatever nondescript athleisure/pajama outfit you had on and get presentable? There is a very specific twilight zone between wanting to not let your friend down (as well as the expectation to yourself of still being somewhat of a functioning member of society) and your preferable urge to just hang in the comfort of your home and your Instagram feed; basically, applying social distancing before it was even a thing. Well, this is the beautiful conundrum of the extroverted introvert.

It is a fascinating place to be in between the worlds of social animals and quiet creatures, hanging amidst the idea that we like to socialize - but only selectively - and needing to spend time by ourselves to just think. When I was in high school I craved going out on Friday nights, I used to spend all week with my friends planning our night out, picking our outfits and daydreaming of all the possible scenarios that could unfold on that magical Friday night. Actually, nothing much eventful ever happened on those Friday nights just dancing, chatting and our dads picking us up at midnight, but holding on to the thought that something remarkable could unfold over the following weekend - such as that a very handsome boy would materialize into our narrative or that we would get wrapped in the adventure of our lifetime -  gave me enough trepidation and excitement for going out time after time.

Then university came along, and still fooling myself that I was a straightforward extrovert I continued to find joy in going out in groups of friends, to find the energy and motivation to go out not only on weekends but also on Tuesday nights (gasp!). However, my true nature started to transpire after my first year of college when I began to realize that one to one dates with my friends over dinner or in a café were much more appealing to me. I started to lose interest in the possibility of an epic night out and instead was seeking more meaningful connections with people I cared about. Venues were not important anymore, what to wear out wasn’t the focus but storytelling and finding closeness became more significant to me. This is not just the simple journey of growing up that we all eventually to go through but the acceptance of a part of myself that I was suppressing for the sake of fitting in: the introvert.

Being an introvert is not as glamorous, it is often dismissed as someone that can be awkward socially and doesn’t have the energy to face interactions with other people. But I find my introverted side quite charming, if I had to visualize it, it would be a middle-aged French thinker elaborating complicated observations on the meaning of life amongst their intellectual piers at a salons of La Ville Lumiere. In reality is much less dramatic than that, it’s just me, at times, giving in to my desires to be introspective and spend time with myself. Actually, my quieter side is what allows me to take better care of myself, to sink deeper into my thoughts, fantasy and creativity, while my more outgoing side makes sure all that gets communicated out to the world.

I am not mad for having spent a little over the first half of my life as a bearded extrovert, though I am happy to finally have the clarity to come face to face with my real identity: part wallflower and part social butterfly. At the end of the day, I can now peacefully alternate between calling for rain checks without guilt/sense of FOMO and come out of the cocoon and fly out again to a party even if occasionally I still struggle to decide whether do go or not, and eventually blurt out “Sorry I am late, I didn’t want to come”.