Walking away from an interaction where I’ve sincerely been laughing, smiling, and cracking jokes, I often find myself on the verge of tears.
Life of the party, clown of the class, the one with the big mouth. That’s who I can be: ridiculously happy, oh so silly.
Yep, sounds about right. Relentlessly cheery. It’s not an act.
I am that outgoing person. The one who jokes with strangers, makes friends on the bus. The one you’d swear is the World’s #1 Excellent Extrovert. And it’s true. I am not faking, I am not insincere. I am completely and totally on until I am completely and totally off. I wholeheartedly laugh and smile and crack jokes. And then something goes click and I can’t laugh, won’t smile, and suddenly nothing is funny. I go home on Fridays, collapse, and silently stay put. Monday comes around and forces me to do it again, do it again, do it again.
When I tell people I am shy, they never believe me. Because they see the shiny part of me that is curious. The part of me that likes people, that wants to hear what they have to say, that can’t wait to learn about pretty much anything. I really like that part of me.
Well, part of me likes that part of me. Another part of me hates that part of me.
Are you getting confused? It’s okay, because it’s confusing to me as well. And confusing to people who are getting to know me. As they learn about my mercurial ways, they stop making (logical) assumptions that I always want to be out and about doing this and that. They come to understand I need lots of time alone, as well as pretty regular recharging.
On those introvert/extrovert questionnaires, I usually score at one extreme or the other. It depends on what day I take the quiz. This doesn’t give me much faith in whoever makes these tests up.
But that’s another post for another day.