Over the past few days I have had a breakthrough in accepting my highly-sensitive nature. Incidentally, I have written things on this blog I’m not sure I ever admitted even to myself before (for instance, being honest about how I felt back in little league is a big deal). My wife has noticed; she tells me she’s hearing me talk about things I’ve never said before.
To that point, I have been thinking a lot about people. First of all, I like people. Mostly. But honestly, sometimes they can be really challenging for me to be around, especially for long lengths of time. I can start to feel worn down. It’s as if I get confused by their gravitational force. What starts out as a joy can end up feeling like the opposite, particularly in bigger group experiences. It almost seems like I have a time limit before I start to lose my sense of stability.
After awhile, I’m like Cinderella, and have to flee the ball or else risk being turned into a pumpkin!*
It has often worked best for me to be intentional going into social interactions. Being calm and well-rested helps. For many a show, I clear my mind beforehand, as if preparing myself for the intensity of the encounter. I even do this before piano lessons, although it is generally a more mellow experience to begin with.
A certain amount of interaction can be perfect. A few well-placed hours here and there socializing seems to work best. I can give my all, be present with others, and have a good time.
Afterward, I can get right back to my solitude, where I find my center again.
Thank you, Solitude, My Steady State.
*Yes, I know that Cinderella doesn’t get turned into a pumpkin. But her chariot does! The scrambled version of the story seems to fit better for me, anyway.
Intriguing self-reflection. We are all in solitude even in the company of each other don’t you think?
Metaphysically, I’d say so. Here I was referring to a stricter definition of solitude, as in “being physical by one’s self.”