The Undercover Introvert

A Year of Living at Work

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The beauty part about working from home is that you never have to stop working!

Seriously. It. Never. Has. To. End.

Before we dig in, let’s set the table: I’m extremely privileged to have a job that allowed me to work from home, burrow into a cocoon of safety with the folks I love most, continue to pay my bills, and generally keep my head down while a pandemic raged outside my door. Believe me, I don’t take this for granted.

Now that I’ve put that out there, I can start on the rest.

I worked from home long before the pandemic and loved it: the freedom and flexibility, the nonexistent commute, the sound of my dog snoring lightly in the little bed I set up next to my desk for her. I traveled quite a bit throughout the week for meetings and work related events, so it was rare for me to spend two full days in a row in my home office. So, I carved out Sundays as my day to catch up on emails, research, and other writing intensive tasks, setting up at my desk around 8 AM and working peacefully until about noon, no other people in sight. An introvert’s dream.

When COVID-19 closed down the country in March of 2020, working remotely was nothing new to me. It was odd not to travel to meetings, conferences, and other professional get-togethers, but I didn’t miss them that much at first. What did change was that everyone else with whom I interacted throughout my workday was now working from home too. Suddenly, as though by some dark sorcery that managed to enchant us all simultaneously, what could have been a 10 minute phone call was now an hour long Zoom meeting complete with slide deck, round robin intros, breakout rooms, and icebreakers about what was getting us through the lockdown. And, unlike in person meetings, there was no longer any time built into our shared schedules that allowed for eating, bathroom breaks, or, you know, time to do our actual jobs. It was common practice to have meetings begin at 9 AM and go until 4 or 5, each one an hour, each one starting immediately after the one before it. The Zoom Industrial Complex rose quickly at the beginning of our self-imposed lockdown and loomed large over just about every single professional interaction I’ve had over the last 15ish months.

I get it. We were all missing in person meetups. But did that mean things that definitely could have been handled via email now needed to be a 45 minute long on camera meeting?

The answer is no. And yet…

Just an FYI: if you’ve been on a Zoom with me where my camera is off — despite the constant peer pressure to be visible, always — then you have most definitely accompanied me to the bathroom, to the kitchen to refill my water bottle or fix a snack, around my house as I sweep/dust/scrub (when the hell else am I supposed to get cleaning done?), on the elliptical (only for Zooms after 5 PM), or to the floor to stretch out a body that aches from crouching over a computer all day.

Just to reiterate, I fully understand how fortunate I am to have been able to continue working from the safety of my home during a global pandemic, but, goddamn, it quickly felt less like working from home and more like I was living at work.

The line between working and not working is always a little blurry when you work from home. But, last year, that fuzzy line completely disappeared. Calls happened at night and over the weekend. I worked every day, all day, because it’s not like I could safely do anything outside my house, right? Plus it was an election year, and those are always crazy af in my line of work. It seemed like my mind never clicked from work to home. It was exhausting, but also guilt inducing, because it wasn’t like I was risking my life by working a 16 hour shift in an emergency room. I didn’t have to worry about getting infected with a deadly disease as I rang up groceries for unmasked customers that couldn’t care less about my health and safety. I was sitting at home, safe, in front of my computer. Besides, I wasn’t going anywhere anyway, so I might as well answer those emails, do that research, jump on that weekend Zoom meeting, put together that memo.

I’ve been fully vaccinated for a few weeks. By and large, I’m still working from home, but I had my first in person meeting in well over a year earlier this month. While it was great to see other vaccinated people in person, albeit a little freaky, we’re all still inhabiting an in-between space where we’re expected to live at the office and also leave the house to get work done. Granted, it’s the home office, but, still, we’re living at work. It took several days of plugging away at home to catch up after a day of meetings spent untethered from my computer. You can’t travel for meetings and still manage to get 9 solid hours of screen time, which is the minimum amount you need to get enough work done to justify stopping for the night.

As we collectively emerge from this year like no other in our lifetimes, I’ve begun to set boundaries, even if they are uncomfortable at first. During the weekend, I make a point to do things with family or friends that don’t involve work. Some of y’all might be thinking: how is that a boundary? Isn’t that just normal life?! Well, when you’ve worked 7 days a week for so long, only coming up for air when you’re climbing into bed at night, this is huge. During the week, unless I have to finish a task that can’t wait until morning, I’m done at 5 PM, no exceptions (well, some exceptions, but this is a work in progress). I don’t take work calls in the evening and I don’t set up meetings over the weekend. I do take a few hours on Sundays to catch up on emails and research, like old times, but I’m not on a goddamned Zoom meeting, so it feels a little like the sleepy hours just after dawn when you’re on vacation and no one else is awake yet. Just you, a mug of coffee, the promise of the rest of the day, and a little bit of time to do whatever the hell you want to do in that moment.

I’m taking it step by step and giving myself grace. It’s hard to break bad habits, and working 7 days a week, taking phone calls whenever, and waking in the middle of the night sure you’ve dropped a ball somehow, somewhere are all bad habits. I’ve planned 2 vacations for later in the year. I see friends and family often. I regularly disconnect from my computer for hours at a time.

Most importantly, I refuse to continue living at work.

I love my job, but not enough to do it 15 hours a day, 7 days a week. Not enough to keep sacrificing time with family and friends. I still have to beat back guilty feelings when I reach for a book instead of a work related task, when I schedule lunch with friends on a Saturday instead of doing that extra research, when I keep watching Netflix instead of taking that 7 PM phone call. I remind myself that, when I worked in an office, stepping out into the parking lot meant I was finished working, that the rest of the day was mine to do whatever I wanted. I felt no guilt then. I shouldn’t feel guilt now, just because my office is nestled inside the rest of my house. All the lines are still there. I just have to enforce them. So, that’s what I’m doing: tracing over the blurry, indistinct lines between work and my personal life until they become bold again.

Close the Door on Your Way Out, 2020

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What can I say about 2020 that hasn’t already been growled between gritted teeth by someone, somewhere on this planet? It’s certainly been a year that defies simplistic definitions. A time warp. A lengthy, shimmering interlude between one moment and the next. A dumpster fire. An extended period of forced, yet not altogether unpleasant calm. A struggle. A hazy, indeterminate dream state. A nightmare. Never ending. Lightning fast. Upheaval incarnate.

In other words, it’s been one hell of a year.

Living through a global pandemic wasn’t something I had on my Bingo card last New Year’s Eve, and the year I thought I was strutting into on January 1st, 2020 didn’t even begin to resemble the year I’m looking back on during this final day of December. But the one thing I’m left with at the end of this strange 12 months is just how damned lucky I am. I did more than live through a year that saw close to 350,000 Americans die and millions more lose their livelihoods. I was able to spend 2020 quarantining with the people I care about most in the world while working full time in the safe, comfy cocoon of my own home. I didn’t struggle with food insecurity. I didn’t worry about being evicted in the middle of a health crisis. I kept my medical insurance and was able to seek care whenever I needed it.

This year has been horrible in so many ways, but I can’t deny how fortunate I am. So instead of shooting 2020 a double bird as it rides off into the blazing sunset, I’m going to give thanks. It just seems warranted, doesn’t it? And it’s an extension of the practice I began at the beginning of the year whenever I started to lament at how awful and uncertain things seemed.

I had all my people with me

At the end of December, I like to write out a list of my goals for the upcoming year, and then I read over them every morning to keep myself focused as the months pass. I did this for 2020 as well. Why am I telling you this? Well, my job is the type that normally keeps me on the move. Florida’s a big state and I’m often driving hundreds of miles every week for meetings, events, and conferences. So, in January, one of my goals was to prioritize spending quality time with my family. Remember that old adage: be careful what you wish for? Seems 2020 came equipped with jokes and thought that it would grant my wish by giving me nothing but family time. Although there have been a few moments when we all considered killing each other, this time together has truly been a gift. COVID slowed my ass down, kicking travel out of bounds and shutting down my usual get togethers with friends. I’m grateful to have been able to weather this stormy year with the people I cherish most. I know not everyone had that, and many now have empty chairs at their dining room tables.

I got by with a little help from my friends

Shockingly, my introverted ass has quite a few friends. And despite my critical need of alone time at regular intervals, hanging with these folks improves my life beyond what I might have earlier believed possible. I’m doubly fortunate that many of the people I consider close friends are also work associates, meaning we see each other at conferences and meetings that then transition into happy hours at various restaurants (yes, all my friends like food; you can’t hang with me if you don’t). My final work related trip in 2020 was for a big conference in DC the first week of March, just before everything shut down. We had a large group from Florida, which resulted in a good time during and after the conference, and a few of us stayed extra days to have unencumbered fun in the city. Before leaving for DC, I’d gotten the chance to see several other friends throughout February, which proved fortuitous, considering the world slammed shut the week I returned home, clearing my calendar of all in person events, both professional and social.

I fell into a virtual happy hour that first Friday of my self-imposed COVID quarantine that became a regular occurrence throughout the remainder of the year. It quickly transformed into the highlight of my week, a wine soaked therapy session that always started with complaints and ended with maniacal laughter. I had many other virtual get togethers with other sets of friends too, and meandering chat threads filled with frustration, profanity, jokes, and memes about politics and the pandemic. I missed seeing my friends in person, sharing appetizers and desserts over drinks, watching movies in the theater, or driving into the city for events or shows. But it never felt like they were that far away, even the ones from out of state. This year would have been insurmountable without each and every one of these folks. We got each other through this, with humor and humility. I can’t wait to see them all on the other side of this long, strange trip that was 2020.

Home was where the work was

I spent years as a freelance writer, followed by work on different political campaigns and then nonprofit organizations, including one I co-founded. Suffice to say, I’m used to working from home. But I’m also used to being able to leave when I want (or even when I don’t want, holding a knife to my own throat to force my feet out of the door), so it was pretty weird to never need to attend in person meetings or events. And it took time to fully assimilate into the Zoom industrial complex wherein what normally could have been a 20 minute phone call transformed into a 60 minute video conference complete with slide deck and unnecessary icebreakers and breakout groups (the horror). But even during the days stacked high with 6 plus Zoom meetings, I knew how fortunate I was.

I live in a state that buckled immediately under the pressure of the COVID-19 fueled unemployment crisis. To this day, there are still thousands of people that never received any unemployment benefits and are facing complete financial destruction as they hover on the edge of eviction, unable to afford their basic needs. There are other folks that managed to keep their jobs, but were forced to work outside of their homes. This wasn’t without risk, considering our state never had any discernible leadership from our incompetent governor or something as simple and obvious as a mask mandate. Unsurprisingly, our COVID-19 infection rates soared.

But somehow, inexplicably, I was okay. I stayed employed. I didn’t fall into financial ruin. I could afford food, a roof over my head, medical care. What made me so lucky when millions of others spiraled into poverty, their livelihoods and peace of mind evaporating in an instant? I don’t have the answer to this question. But I do feel an obligation to continue working to create an America that’s freer, fairer, and better for all of us. One with safety nets that actually catch us when we fall…or when we’re pushed. It goes without saying that I don’t want to struggle, but, here’s the thing: I don’t want you to struggle either.

I let words be my refuge

Before I fell ass over teakettle into the exhilaratingly frustrating world of politics, I used to read north of 60 books each year. I just ran through them. I’ve always been a voracious reader, preferring the comfort of tucking into the pages of a book over most everything else. This year, I set a modest goal of reading 30 books, but by May, I had yet to read a single one. What can I say? The year started at a gallop with work and then took a turn into the surreal when the pandemic started, washing everything else away. It was all I could do to keep my head above water. Eventually, I had a come to Jesus meeting with myself, and kicked my own ass into gear. Once I actually got started, I never stopped. I had some great adventures this year, humming along in the colorful space between my ears. I finished my 30th book just the other day. And, more importantly, I rekindled the love of reading that I’ve had since I was a little girl. That’s something I plan to bring with me into 2021.

We flipped the goddamned White House

Y’all know I can’t end a list about all the things I’m grateful for in 2020 without including this one. I’ve been living in a state of persistent dread for the last 4 years, a weight I forgot I was lugging around until it lifted, as though by magic, the Saturday after Election Day when Joe Biden was officially named President-Elect. I’ve never felt more relieved in my life, and I’ve given birth to a child. It’s strange to wish the last 4 years had never happened while also feeling deep, unshakeable gratitude for the person I became because of the gauntlet of stress and terror the Trump presidency forced me to cross. I didn’t have a purpose before this, not really, and now I do. Thanks to the work that millions of us did over the last 48 months, I get to keep the purpose while Trump has to vacate the White House. Beautiful, right?

As we show 2020 the door and lock up securely as soon as it crosses the threshold, lest it change its fickle mind, let’s take a moment to celebrate the small victories and soaring triumphs. If you’re reading this, you made it. You survived one of the worst years in living memory. I hope you also found pockets of joy, had those you loved close at hand, and found other small pleasures that made these odd days pass more easily. On the eve of 2021, here’s to many more years together doing what we love. Here’s to better times. Here’s to you, to me, to us.

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On Loving Dogs and Letting Go

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Carly in her element. Lizards and squirrels beware.

A few days ago, I stood above my 14 year old rat terrier Carly as we waited on the veterinarian to come with the series of syringes that would end her life. While she looked up at me with absolute trust, completely oblivious to what was to come, I struggled to reconcile my love for her with the sense of deep betrayal I felt running parallel to that love, because I knew what was about to happen, and I had chosen it. She had no way of knowing why we’d left the house to take a short drive to the emergency vet, less than two miles away. She trusted me, because in our long history together, I’d never done anything to hurt her. But this was the best thing, I told myself repeatedly, even as I feared it might not be. She was in pain. She wasn’t going to get better. This was the right thing. The only humane option. But was it really? What if…?

But that was the end. The beginning was different. Better.

My mother had been diagnosed with cancer and was undergoing chemotherapy. We were all living in a constant state of terror, though we never spoke of it, lest we summon some additional looming misfortune into the precarious balance of our lives. A coworker of my father’s had a rat terrier that had just given birth. We went to visit those puppies when they were several weeks old. Carly had a perfect circle on her back, and she was the runt. It was love at first sight.

Carly’s first day home.

She came home many weeks later in a cardboard box to keep her from roaming free in the car. We named her after both Carly Simon and Carly Corinthos, a character from General Hospital, my Mom’s favorite soap opera. Our shared amusement over this plucky new dog got us through the dark wilderness of my mom’s cancer treatment. I took her to obedience classes — she passed with flying colors, though she was truly an unbossed and take-no-shit kind of K9 — and had her picture taken with Santa for her first Christmas. She became the center of our small universe, and her gravitational pull was undeniable.

Carly hard at work in my home office.

In between the day she came home in that box and the day I rode in the backseat with her up to the emergency vet, her time with us running desperately short, there were many years of memories that will likely make me smile in the months to come, though they cause tears now. For the first several years of her life, you couldn’t leave a pen or pencil sitting out without her chewing it beyond recognition. She’d climb onto a side table to steal your food if you were careless enough to leave it sitting unattended, even if only for a few seconds. She used to play with empty soda bottles, chasing them around the house and growling like a tiny tasmanian devil. She was a world class hellraiser. When she had puppies herself, she was a tender, attentive mother…until she wasn’t, and then her mostly grown pups could fend for their damned selves and stay the hell out of her way, which they did, even as recently as last week.

Carly en famille with her littles: Amelie, Lilly, and Stitch.

We had a cancer scare with her last fall, but the vet was able to remove the tumor, and we breathed a sigh of relief that ultimately proved to be premature. A few weeks later, I found a lump on her opposite leg and, this time, the vet declined to operate, citing her age and the likelihood that it would cause the cancer to metastasize. But it did that anyway, and it happened much faster than any of us were prepared for.

I spent the last few weeks as Carly’s condition worsened wondering if I’d know when the time had come. In the last two weeks of her life, we had to increase her pain medication just to keep her comfortable. The tumor grew, making it harder for her to walk. She cried in the night, unable to sleep. It became too much. But when I set her next to me and rubbed her back, she would rest easily. I convinced myself that this was okay. But it wasn’t. None of it was.

At the vet, I wanted to ask if this was the right thing to do, or if we should take her home to let her live a little bit more of her life. It didn’t feel right to choose this, after so many years of nourishing and loving her, of making sure she was safe, happy, and healthy. But I couldn’t muster the words. What if they said we’d waited too long to bring her in? That she’d suffered unnecessarily because of our selfishness? What if they accused us of bringing her in too soon, of just wanting to get rid of her? It all felt right and wrong at the same time. I leaned to kiss Carly and she licked my face. It felt like I was betraying her, but also like I was doing the right thing by letting her go.

Dogs are like special guests in the running, sometimes banal drama of our lives. They play the heartwarming supporting role to our unwilling protagonist, the much needed comedic relief to our maudlin, self-centered narratives. But, eventually, they are written out of the series, and we have no choice but to soldier on, because there are still scenes as yet unwritten, though we miss their companionship, and the show is never quite the same without them.

I know that time softens the sharp edges of grief and that we’re better for having loved these silly, snuggly, loyal little creatures. But the pain of losing them changes us, and the uncertainty over their final moments can make us question ourselves long after they are gone.

Was it the right time to say goodbye? Could I have held on longer? Should I have held on longer? Why are we given such a heavy responsibility in the first place? It doesn’t seem right, that we should choose for them. Who the hell are we, in the grand scheme of things?

Fourteen years is a long time to love someone. But it’s also the blink of an eye.

I said goodbye to my sweet, sassy Carly. I held her until it was over. I told her I loved her, and that I was sorry. In the end, just as in the beginning, we were together.

Goodbye, Carly Barly. Rest easy.

Quarantine Diary: I haven’t Worn Real Pants in 5 Weeks

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I’m not leaving the house much anymore, so figured I’d start a blog series to share updates of my oh-so-interesting-life-in-quarantine. My (lack of) exploits, thoughts, struggles, and, most importantly, snack choices. What better way to be alone, together than to provide these in depth peeks into my life that no one asked for!

Full disclosure: as an introvert, much of my regular life mirrors what would strictly be defined as quarantine conditions. My ideal day involves rising early, going for a run, listening to a podcast until I sit down at my computer to read articles while drinking several cups of coffee, having a small lunch while researching or doing some work in complete silence (my dog lightly snoring in her fluffy bed positioned within petting distance of my desk). Once I’m finished working for the evening and the end of my ideal day creeps nearer on sleepy feet, I have something delicious to eat for dinner, read or watch TV for the remainder of the night, and then hop into bed with my aforementioned snuggly dog. Did you notice that my ideal day involves never speaking to another human being? Yeah. Introverts did social distancing waaaaaaay before it went (involuntarily) mainstream.

To kick off this first post in the Quarantine Diary series, I want to take you through a list of the things I’m no longer doing in this crazy, upside down, COVID-19 infected world:

Wearing underwear

If we’re going to get to know each other, I believe we should dive right in. No dipping your toes into the water around here. I’m shoving you straight into the middle of Lake TMI…

For background, I worked remotely before it was compulsory, and after my morning shower, I’d plop myself down in my office chair dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants or ratty shorts and get to work. Admittedly, my habit was to go without underwear while working in my home office (because it’s constricting and stupid) and only put on a pair if I had to leave the comfort of my house to attend an event or meeting, which was most days of the week. But now I’m no longer leaving the house for work because all events and meetings have been canceled for the duration. So, naturally, I canceled underwear too.

I’ve seen plenty of women posting about giving their bras the middle finger during this crisis, and I applaud their collective enthusiasm. My personal preference is to wear a sports bra when working, but that’s how I’m most comfortable. To the ladies that have left all undergarments in the rearview, I salute you agents of unmitigated chaos! Give it a few weeks and I might be right there with you. Perhaps we can have a modern day bra burning in our backyards alone, together.

Putting on big girl clothes

It’s pretty much glorified pajamas over here all day, every damned day. I haven’t worn something that wasn’t crafted from stretchy, expanding waist-forgiving fabric in many wonderful weeks (years?). My standard outfit involves sweatpants or loose fitting shorts, a sports bra, and tank top. This outfit doesn’t change for Zoom meetings where I’m expected to turn on my camera. My secret: not giving a shit what I look like. It’s really great. You should try it. Pro tip: point the camera so it only shows from the top of your shoulders up. No one will be the wiser.

Shaving my legs

Ain’t nobody got time for this kind of negativity in their quarantine daily life. And since I’m neither leaving the house nor putting on the aforementioned big girl clothing, I really don’t see the need to shave my legs.

TBH, I’m becoming less presentable by the day and I couldn’t give fewer fucks. I have no idea how any of us are going to go back to the way things were when somewhat normal patterns of life resume. Once you’ve flown from the constricting, yet gilded cage of gendered standards of hygiene, how do you go back again? And, more importantly, will we even want to?

Driving my car

I run a statewide organization, mostly from my home office. But I travel my enormous state quite often for work, meaning I put some serious miles on the old sensible four door sedan. I actually don’t mind driving. It gives me some quiet time untethered from my computer and phone to center myself while I listen to the week’s podcasts. But I sure as hell don’t miss negotiating the shitty traffic in South Florida, Orlando, and Tampa. I don’t miss paying tolls either, or filling up with gas, or paying for a tire that blew out on one of our terrible highways. Unfortunately, despite my car sitting mostly unused in the driveway (save for biweekly grocery store runs), that loan payment is still spirited out of my account at the beginning of every month.

Acknowledging the existence of time

I think we can all agree that time is canceled. It just doesn’t exist anymore, at least not the way it used to. And, even if it did, we’ve moved beyond our childish dependence on it. If we must, we can still have the generic catchalls of yesterday, today, and tomorrow, but when we start trying to get all fancy by naming days of the week or what month it is, things go to hell in a hurry. Let’s stop pretending that March only lasted 31 days when we know damned well it was at least 125. And April is shaping up to be at least double that…

Working remotely only accelerates this gradual softening of time. When your job can be done at home, it means your work day never has to end. Ever. You can continue working late into the night, at the crack of dawn, during the weekend, or on holidays. It’s great! Now the days blend together, creeping past with painful slowness while simultaneously racing through your fingers. I swear it’s been at least 3 years since we started this social distancing stuff. But it’s also only been 15 minutes.

Here’s my promise to you, captive quarantine audience: as long as sheltering in place is our reality, you can expect moderately regular posts about the weird, wonderful, and banal things going on at Chez Moi. Remember all the beautiful letters and journals produced during other trying times in our history, like World War II or the Great Depression? Well, these posts won’t be that. I’ll mostly be talking about my snacking habits and dropping a cascade of F bombs. But if it helps get you through another 75 hour day, I’ll consider that a win.

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An Introvert’s Guide to Social Distancing

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I’d like to speak to my fellow introverts first.

Fam, this is our time. We’ve been preparing for this our entire lives through diligent preemptive social distancing. All those evenings and weekends spent in your own magnificent company. The texts and phone calls from friends that you left unanswered, lest someone try to lure you out of your house. The doors that stayed locked even after someone knocked. The legion of excuses you employed to keep from accepting invitations to social engagements. I already know you have all the reading materials, comfy blankets, caffeinated beverages, snacks, and snuggly animals that you’ll need to get to the other side of this crisis. Know that I’m with each of you the best way I know how: by not being with any of you at all…

Okay, extroverts, now it’s your turn.

Things are getting real out there, so I’m not going to sugarcoat this. The road ahead is going to be difficult for you. For me, on the other hand, not much has really changed in my day to day life. Recent events have forced me to come to terms with the fact that my innate penchant for avoiding most social situations meets the basic definition of living under quarantine conditions. And I’ll still be living in as much self-imposed silence as I can muster long after this global pandemic subsides and everyone else returns to their lives as social butterflies. But if you’re finding yourself panicking at the thought of several weeks’ worth of canceled events combined with the harsh reality of your suddenly barren calendar: welcome to my world. It’s quiet, isn’t it? Why don’t you sit back and let a life long introvert guide you through the unfamiliar landscape that has become your home sweet home for the duration…

Your Best Friend Is You (or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Talking to Myself)

If I’m being real, I never actually learned to stop worrying. I worry about everything, all the time. Currently, I’m worried about the ramifications of this virus on vulnerable people across the globe, both those that might become ill and those that will be destroyed financially by losing even a single paycheck.

But I do love talking to myself and have since I was an odd little girl. This skill is a requirement if you’re going to spend a lot of time one on one…with yourself. It’s all about getting comfy in your own skin and not minding the feeling of being alone with your thoughts. Once you’re hunkered down in blissful solitude, you’ll notice it’s actually pretty great. I don’t spend as much time alone as I used to, and I miss it. Whenever I cobble together some alone time, I find myself going back and forth, as though chatting with another person. You’ll find this happening to you as the social distancing goes on. Lean into it. Talking to yourself is definitely not a sign of acute psychosis, despite what passersby who have overheard my conversations with myself in the past might think.

All joking aside (and I wasn’t really joking about the nonstop talking to myself), learning to enjoy time by yourself is critical to surviving however long we’re stuck inside our own houses. I use my alone time to ground myself, to recharge. Without it, I tatter at the edges and risk unraveling completely. I get that, as extroverts, you recharge by being around people (WEIRD), but try on this alone time for a little while and see how it feels. For me, it’s both a requirement and a blessing. Though I wouldn’t have wished for a global pandemic to suddenly and decisively clear my entire calendar, I can honestly say I don’t mind slowing down. Not to mention canceled plans are literally my idea of a good time.

Your Pet is Now Your BFF

If talking to yourself seems weird (why the judgement, extroverts?), you can always turn to your pet for conversation and moral support. During your self-imposed exile of indeterminate length, this creature will fill the role of your fuzzy, non-judgmental best buddy. I worked from home for years before all of this social distancing stuff was mandated, so my dog knows the drill. She chills with me for hours as she lounges in the comfy bed I set up for her right next to my desk. I talk to her all day long, and goddamn if she isn’t a great listener, even when she’s asleep, which is often. Pets have a calming effect on me. They don’t expect or demand levels of engagement that other people do just by their mere presence. Your pet is cool with you never putting on real clothes. She’s A-okay with you placing the Hamilton soundtrack on repeat or eating nothing but popcorn all day (just help a puppy out and drop a piece here and there, okay?).

Books are Powerful Magic

When I was but a wee introverted girl, I discovered that books were portals that could take me wherever I wanted to go. I devoured them as quickly as I could get my hands on them. They still work as magic portals, and you can have as many adventures as you like, provided you make the time to plant yourself somewhere quiet and dive in. I’m hoping the strong suggestion against leaving my house will result in more hours getting lost in the pages of a good book. And with the ability to download titles digitally (OverDrive is your friend, y’all), there’s absolutely no need to leave your house at all. I really can’t understand folks that don’t prize reading, but if you’re one of those people, this situation is likely going to get much worse before it gets better…

Just kidding. Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime, and cable TV still exist. Get a hold of yourselves, extroverts! Pop some popcorn, snuggle up in a nest of blankets with your furry BFF, and laissez les bons temps rouler. In other words, binge until you can’t binge anymore!

Food is Life

The real secret to living life like an introvert involves prioritizing personal comfort above all else. Extroverts, what makes you happy that doesn’t involve going outside and hanging out with people like a weirdo? Besides alone time, pets, and books, food is a huge component of my daily selfcare plan. And this is something I have in common with most, if not all, of my extroverted friends. We can bond over a good meal and drinks, which is fabulous, but I also like to curl up with a book and a snack all by my lonesome. On nights alone, I like to cook an intricate meal while listening to a podcast and talking to no one. The joy in not communicating, in just being there, by myself, in my head, while onions and garlic sizzle fragrantly on the stovetop, or something savory roasts in the oven. For me, food is everything, and eating it alone while reading a book or watching a movie is my little piece of heaven on Earth.

That’s really the long and short of what makes this introvert tick. And despite the fact that some of us are born introverts and others extroverts, you can ride out the next few weeks by surrounding yourself with the things that make you happiest: good food, books, pets, and movies. Take long showers. Exercise more, if that centers you the way it does me. Take a long walk (still allowed!). Check in with those you care about most via text message (vastly superior to phone calls, IMHO). Write in a journal. Sit in your backyard at night and watch the stars. If all else fails, you can host a virtual dinner party on Google Hangouts to be alone, together with everyone else practicing this social distancing thing for the first time.

Above all, take care of yourself. Your best friend is you.

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