LONG STORY SHORT By Kristine McGowan You can roll your eyes, but I’ll say it anyway: I’m an introvert. And a pretty extreme one at that. Starting new friendships has never been easy for me. Hell, talking to a stranger can make my spine go rigid. I can’t count how many times someone’s tried to spark conversation with me in line at the grocery store, and I babbled something bordering on gibberish while looking for an escape. Even maintaining acquiantanceships can feel like too much at times. At my first job out of college, I would keep an eye out for familiar coworkers on my way to the break room; if I spotted one, I’d turn around and resolve to come back later, simply because I didn’t want to muster the energy to talk to them. (In my defense, this most often happened before 9 a.m., when it would have required a lot of mustering. I’m a morning person but not that much of a morning person.)
So yeah. “Introvert” might be a generous label for someone like me. That said, I’m not sure the label applies anymore. I’ve picked up an alarming (to my introverted self) habit since we hit the road on The Big Trip. I haven’t avoided conversation with strangers—rather, I’ve sought it out. In Mammoth, I felt compelled to ask our neighbor about his Joe Jost’s shirt, which came from a staple of our hometown, Long Beach. In Colorado National Monument, I slipped into a conversation with a woman from Quebec, who was fascinated by my laundry machine (a WonderWash) and assured me that jobs come and go, but you only get so many chances in your life to travel like this. In Dinosaur National Monument, I loved our rafting trip not only because of the landscape and whitewater but also because of the people on the trip with us. I’m not enduring conversations with strangers anymore. I’m enjoying them. Weird. One of my favorite encounters with strangers happened on our Cascade Canyon hike in Grand Teton. Soon after we’d entered the canyon, we came across another pair of hikers with much larger packs than ours; they were heading through the canyon and into the wilderness to backpack through the Tetons for a few days. We got to talking, and before we knew it, we were hiking the canyon together, learning about each other’s lives before we’d even exchanged names. Over the course of about 4 miles, these hikers—Brad and Kristin—had gone from strangers to friends. The old introvert in me was flabbergasted. I could chalk up my personality change to the fact that I hadn’t seen any friends or family besides my husband in a month; or that I simply wanted additional bodies for our hike in grizzly country, where it’s recommended that you walk in groups of at least three or four. But I don’t think that’s it. Those factors may have contributed, but I don’t think they’re the driving factor here. I’m not sick of my husband’s company—no, really—and we have other methods for deterring bears. The driving factor, I think, is that I simply have more energy now. I don’t have to commute an hour to and from work every day; I don’t have to sit at a mentally draining screen for 8 to 9 hours a day. As a result, I have the energy to interact with strangers and, in turn, more easily navigate the world around me. Sometimes, I even have the energy to make friends. Which makes me wonder—if we all got a break from our jobs, what could we do with all that extra energy? And how much better off would we be for it?
1 Comment
Barbara
9/17/2023 11:37:36 am
I can relate somewhat to your feeling of being in a situation where you are almost forced to talk to people. My sweet spot is conversing with people who like similar things. When I am at the quilt shop or the yarn shop I find it easy to strike up a conversation. Maybe that’s what happened with you when you meet fellow travelers.
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