I’ve attended two holiday parties in the past three days and I’m exhausted.
And I don’t mean “stayed up too late and had too much to drink” tired. It’s more like “ran a marathon with only two hours sleep” tired.
(Or at least what I imagine that would feel like since I’ve never attempted run a marathon.)
Even if you’ve only read a handful of my blog posts, you probably know that I am a self labeled — and proud — introvert.
Since coming to terms with it a couple of years ago, I seem to talk and write about being an introvert a lot.
So much so that one stranger who happened across my blog commented that he thought I must have some sort of social anxiety disorder.
Personally, I think that’s a bit of a wild conclusion to reach based on reading a post or two, especially since bloggers have been known to exaggerate.
I can actually be quite charming when I want to be. Schmoozing and fundraising is an important part of my job, after all.
It’s not that I can’t be social, or that I don’t enjoy parties or hanging out with other people. It’s simply that afterwards I’m tired.
To me, my current state of fatigue is the very definition of being an introvert.
I know people who walk away from gatherings revived and ready to stay awake all night. These are the people who say, “I couldn’t sleep when I got home. I was too wired from being out.”
That never happens to me.
After even the most enjoyable social gathering I’m beat, ready to spend the whole next day on the couch with a good book.
Introvertism and extrovertism is not about who is dancing on a table and who is skulking in the corner at a party. It’s about who needs a nap to recover from that party.
And I really need a nap.