Because I have come to be known over the years as something of a chatterbox, this may come as a surprise to some: I really don’t look forward to talking much these days. I can’t really pinpoint the cause of this shift in my personality, but I have slowly come to accept it. And in discussing this general phenomenon with a few of my similarly-seasoned friends, I’m not the only one undergoing the metamorphosis from youthful extrovert to mid-life introvert.
The real headline here is that I actually don’t mind it.
The Party Goes On
A number of years ago, I began to realize (to my surprise) that I was dreading the thought of having to get dressed to go out and do the “planned thing.” Because I could find no rational explanation for my hesitance, I would power through and find a way to get out the door on these occasions; invariably I would end up having a wonderful time and all would be well. But then I began to plan fewer outings. I would see pictures of others having the fun that I had chosen to forego, and I would feel a little tug of wistfulness: “That should (and could) have been me, too. Why didn’t I go?” And then, in a split second, another thought would intrude: “But then I would have had to worry about what I looked like and would end up having the same conversations I have had every other night I’ve gone out for the last twenty years.” FOMO gone.
Exaggerated angst? No doubt. Insecurity about my “no-longer-twenty-five-years-old” appearance? Maybe. But wholly inaccurate? Perhaps not. Even so, I have worried off-and-on about this sea change in my social persona. After some real introspection, I have decided that I need to accept this change as my “new normal.”
All that being said, I am still completely capable of sustaining a conversation for an indefinite length of time, likely having a great time while doing so. The hard part is getting myself out of the house to begin that conversation.
Talk of the Town
One thing that gives me pause when thinking about going to a large event is the idea of making small talk with people who I probably know but haven’t seen on a regular basis now for years, thanks to the changing landscape of the family. Without the busy kid schedules, there is less interaction with others who are thrown together based on circumstance. My calendar opened up and my commitments narrowed down, through no fault of anyone I used to see and enjoy spending time with. That’s on me.
But small talk now exhausts me. Even the thought of small talk has this effect. “Yep, the weather is crazy/hot/rainy/gorgeous. Nope, I haven’t seen that show, but I did watch this one. Yes, I saw that news story and I agree with your take on it/probably have the opposite take on it/don’t know much beyond the headline but will look it up — any way you look at it, I don’t want to discuss it here because neither of us will probably have anything new or useful to say on the subject. Oh, thanks for asking, the kids are doing fine/backpacking around Europe/working hard/changing jobs — and yours? Well, I’m working part-time/too much/not at all these days but I still love what I do — what about you?”
Sometimes these inital exchanges lead to deeper conversations, which is tremendously gratifying and where the real fun is for me. But so often the dynamics of a group or a large event come with such an overwhelming amount of attention-grabbing situations — sensory overload, if you will — that it’s almost impossible for anyone to concentrate on anything (or anyone) for more than a few seconds. Begin one conversation with a colleague and another person or two joins within a few minutes, which restarts the conversation or changes it completely. Get into another chat and dinner service begins, complete with dinner speaker. Start to hear about a recent development with an old friend and the band begins to play, ceasing all communication until the break. All of these things individually have merit, but they also can be frustrating to anyone with an attention span longer than the average commercial.
Considering My Options
I guess I’m going to look at this with a glass-half-full optimism and say that I am so content at this stage in my life — as a gracefully-aging Gen Xer, you do the math — that I don’t feel compelled to keep busy socially like I used to. I’m perfectly capable of mixing it up like I have over the last several decades; I simply am more selective about when I choose to engage.
Or maybe I am actually regressing to my pre-teen days when I spent many happy hours in my room or in the family room, listening to records (Gen Z kids, look it up), to cassettes, and to the (gasp!) radio; I’ve still got some of the mix tapes (for those born this century, see: Playlists) that I created even though I’m not sure that I have the ability to listen to them with any of my current devices. I also read lots of books and played many versions of solitaire, perfectly content to be on my own. I was the kid who was fine with being “sent to my room;” my parents may have unwittingly been the origin of today’s “play-date” culture, encouraging me regularly to call a friend to come over to hang out or to go see a movie, worried that I was lonely. Have I really been an introvert all along, masquerading as an extrovert just to fit in?
As long as the pessimistic view does not prove to be correct — that I am depressed over the aging process and its effects, turning into a cranky lady set in my ways — then I guess I don’t really see a problem with this new phase. I’m still making occasional plans with friends, and going out for spontaneous activities and traveling regularly with my husband, and hosting special gatherings for important milestones — all with as much enthusiasm as I ever had. These times may be fewer in number, but they hold a dear place in my heart because they are more rare.
Less small talk, more real connection. I’ll take it.
Suzanne, this really resonated with me.