I have decided that I have a strange character. I am such an introvert and yet I love people. That is where my problem arises. I panic when I am thinking about people coming and filling up all my space and time with their energy. Their energy seems to mean that I must be willing to be drained by theirs.
I am rejuvenated by silence and by being alone. If I don’t have some periods of intense and prolonged solitude, I find myself panicking more quickly, coming to a place where I can’t respond to others in any way that reflects how much I really do like them.
This summer is a summer for people. I love it but it seems as if all my free time is full of doing – going – providing. All things a grandmother should love. I am anticipating a tiring summer. I may end up loving it – and probably will. My home is full of love, food and good times. But inside I am wishing to run away – to a quiet place where I could just sit, no one else would set my agenda, I could read all night or sleep all night if I wished. Maybe there will be time for this in … But I can’t forsee when this time will be. My fall is even filling up. So I panic.
Who will I become, what will I be? I will have to learn to snatch bits of time and hoard them for my spirit’s health. Maybe I will just have to make the seconds of solitude count for more. Each moment will have to be savoured and the sweetness of it mined for the small drops of energy they provide. Perhaps I will become a storehouse of moments – moments I choose to hold silently and live into as fully as I can.
I guess I will see what is left at the end of this summer. I have always found this space a good thing. Something I do in silence and alone. There are just fewer moments to come here too.