Unseen Beauty: A Journal

Solitude Becomes Her

For me, there isn’t much question as far as being an introvert. Fascinated by the quirky, amorphous phenomenon we call “personality,” I’ve taken four or five iterations of the MBTI along with a rather broad range of online personality batteries of more questionable accuracy. On those versions of the MBTI which provide percentile ranks for the individual dynamics measured by the test, I come out somewhere between 70 and 90 percent introverted – a reasonably high result.

Of course, I know what that means. I get my energy from being alone. Being in large groups tires me quickly. I prefer to work alone instead of in a group. Believe me, I’ve read the diagnostic.

But in the real world, I don’t think about that sort of thing much. I work in a public service job where I am constantly helping students with academic, and sometimes personal, problems. I an the supervisor of my area, and I have four employees whom I must nurture, direct, and watch over. About 50 hours of my week is spent either in my supervisory capacity or actively instructing students in the classroom. When I come home, I am incredibly grateful to see my husband. His emotional support is what holds me together, providing me with the reassurance and approval so vital to keeping me sane and able to keep going through 10 to 13 hour days. But I don’t have time to be alone; it’s not a realistic option in my schedule.

So when it does happen, in those rare moments I find myself without human beings in a 200 foot radius, it surprises me. And more than that, it reminds me. Twice this week, I have been home alone. It was not a condition I necessarily sought out; as I said, I value each moment that I get to be at home with my family. Yet, when the realization arrived, the knowledge that I was truly alone, I remembered that “I” at the opening of my MBTI results.

There is such peace in alone time. Not lonely times – I know those well too, and most often they strike hardest in places filled with human contact – but in solitude. There are no words for what true solitude means to me as an introvert. I am a people pleaser in my job, in my personal space, in every aspect of my life. With few exceptions, I instinctively define who I am by how well I serve those around me. Even when no one asks or implies, I feel compelled to do, constantly measuring the results on others. I am not comfortable being waited upon, served, or taken care of. I feel obscurely guilty, even when someone does the service willingly. That solitude is a gift for me, for in those moments of silence, I am more free than at any other time in reality. No one will disapprove of anything that I do, nor will they see my mistakes, or judge my level of responsibility. I am able to do what I want without considering its benefit or detriment to others. I can stop moving, stop worrying, and relax.

Naturally, it is not a condition to be indulged to excess. Solitude is a treasure, and must be cherished as such. Its excess leads to self destruction, as does its absence. But for me, those moments are ones to be remembered, to be savored, and to be recalled in later moments.