There’s no denying that I’m an absolute social butterfly; more often than not I’m surrounded by people and if there are groups to visit I can flit back and forth seamlessly keeping up with too many conversations. I have always assigned myself the characteristics of an “extroverted as you could possibly be” person, but as I get older I have also come to really value my alone time. Alone time comes in the form of reading, cooking in my underwear, writing out my gratitude for the world to see, working out, daydreaming alone in the middle of my super comfortable bed.
It wasn’t very long ago that I rebuked the thought of alone time; the last thing I wanted was to be alone with my thoughts, with my self. The very thought horrified me. I honestly think people that are close to me would be shocked at the things that I told myself when no one was around, being around everyone made it easier to drown out the overly critical judgments and lies my ego sang loudly into my heart. My friends were not my friends, they were my escape. I grew up depressed – too soft for the world, too thin-skinned. It was part age and part disease – and depression IS a disease.
Now I covet my time alone; it’s a time of regeneration and replenishing. Now I say no to social functions in favor of sleep, mud masks, and time spent reading the books that always seem to be piling on my dresser. The older I get, the more I seem to fall into a category somewhere between the hard and fast stereotypes of always in and always out (gasp, balance!). Far from shy, I really do draw energy from being around people, but it seems that I draw a different energy from being alone and I no longer find it lonely. I’m a damn good time.
Alone time comes in all different flavors, from singing pantsless to Miranda Lambert with a mud mask on to typing up even more love letters to the world to post here. What does your alone time look like?