Gardener

I have mastered the art of being by myself. Sometimes I'm a little too good at it: I remember one night in college I chose to stay in my room and read a book instead of going to a basketball game with some friends. I often opt to remain in my solitude (nine times out of ten, in my pajamas and out of my bra) rather than to go out because I identify as an introvert.

Aahg-waitaminute--don't..-stop:shh.

I know what you're going to say. And if I were with you, I'd gently lay my finger on your nose and say, "Pause for just a second."

This does not mean "anti-social." I hear so many people (one in particular springs to mind but that's not my business to tell) who use the label "introvert" as an excuse to sit in their dorm room by themselves and watch "Sherlock" for weeks on end.

Repeat after me: that is NOT what an introvert is.

I love to be with my friends. The nature of my job means going out of my way to ask people how they're doing and if they need my help. I am paid to be "on" whether it's 7am or 10pm. I love to make people smile and hear them laugh. One of my favorite things to do is ask people questions and hear them tell their stories. But just as laying in bed reading a book doesn't make me antisocial, being sociable and out-going (as needed) doesn't make me an extrovert.

Whether your vert leans more toward intro and extro depends solely on where your energy comes from. In my case, I am emotionally and physically drained the longer I'm with people. When I come home from work and sit in my room for an hour by myself, it doesn't necessarily mean that I've had a bad day. (Although everybody in my house knows that if I come home and go straight to the piano, it's been a bad day and I need at least an hour before I'll talk about it.) The need to be alone first thing in the morning or when I get home from extended time away is my way of "recharging." My mom said that it's a bit of an oxymoron to think I gain energy from unwinding, but it's true: I am emotionally rejuvenated after spending extended time doing the things that nourish my soul - specifically reading a book or journaling. Today I walked in the door after an eight-hour shift, changed into my comfy clothes, and went straight out to my porch with a book. I smiled at my mom and said "hello" to let her know that today wasn't a bad day - I simply had a lot of human interaction and needed some time to not be "on."

And also because I still can't get over the beautiful weather we're having and I just want to be outside as much as possible after being inside for an eight-hour shift.

The opposite is true of extroverts (though I'm not one and don't claim to be an expert on the subject): their energy comes from being around other people. While I the introvert prefer to just go home after a day at work, extroverts are totally fine with hitting the ground running after a full day of whatever and going out to a club or bar to be social. The label doesn't come from a tendency to be happy and energetic around people, though that's how it's often interpreted. It is, dear friends, all about the energy source.

And that's all I'll say on the extrovert front since, as I said, I'm not expert.

While we're on the thread of debunking assumptions, let me say right here, right now that I'm not naturally a miserable person. I tend to be a little melancholy and "brooding" if left alone by myself for too long, which makes me assess how long I've been alone and plan social interaction accordingly. But you'll rarely find me going out with friends after I work all day: I'm not one of those who clocks out of work and goes out on the town. And if I have something going on after work - whether it's with friends or my family or a colleague - I use the drive to and from as a minute to myself to "recharge," even if it's just for a minute. So while it seems like I'm just writing on my porch listening to country music, I'm actually using this time to get my battery back up after a day of answering questions and helping lost customers and being positive even when I really, really feel like griping. I love doing it, but it's a little exhausting after a while.

And so ends another narcissistic blog where I just talk about myself and you all think that I'm faking being happy - I promise that I'm usually happy these days, and I reassure you that I hate talking about myself and would much rather listen to you talk about yourselves. I hope you're enjoying your Wednesday, dear friend. And if you're not...I mean, the weekend's almost here, that's happy. :-)

Jut

I've grown up in the same neighborhood for almost eighteen years. We moved here the summer before Austin turned two and, until my dad retires and trades the house for an RV and travels the country with my mom and his dogs, I think this is where I'll be able to return for barbecues and Christmas. It's right between the two busy main streets of our town - the cute downtown shopping district and the car dealership drag - but it doesn't feel like we live "in the city." We're right in front of city-owned woods with a farmer and his field beyond that, so at least on our side of the street there's no chance of us ever having backyard neighbors.

Neighbors come and go, as people often do, but for the most part the subdivision has stayed the same. It's one of those places that's great for young families - lots of space on a quiet street - and even in this age of video games and "indoor entertainment," kids still play outside here and run wild in their front yards until the sun goes down. There were several summers that my siblings and I would stay out until dark, going back and forth on our bikes between the Barnetts' and the Wuennemanns' and the Noctins'. We were still at the age of "pretending" then. The woods were a fort. The sprinkler was a time machine. The street hockey sticks were rifles as we shot each other from the backs of sawhorses.

It's so strange to think that soon I won't live here anymore. Every night I crawl into my little twin bed in my little green room and think, "You'll be a guest room again in less than a year." Of course I'll be over for the pool and to cook burgers with my family but it won't be "home" anymore. When I leave work at night to go "home" it won't be to the house where our first dog is buried under the front tree, where my dad and I rebuilt the mailbox after our drunk neighbor dragged it halfway down the street under her car. It will always be my home in that I'll always be welcome. But as with so many things, it will be a "was," not an "is."

"This was where I lived."

German

The really cool thing about human beings is that there is such a variety within one group. The big discussion now, as it has been for so many years, is the separation between races, classes, regions, religions; and I don't mean to praise those - the empty classifications that are specifically geared to divide. I mean to take the human race as a whole and look beyond just the physical and see what a distinct group we really are. Look at stories, experiences, tastes, whether we put apples or cinnamon on our oatmeal, whether we eat oatmeal at all, what image leaps to mind at the mention of a word or a name. Naturally this includes opinions but consider preferences as well - those unspoken familiarities that we don't feel the need to explain. There is such a wide range of everything within the human race that no two people can truly be alike: somewhere along the way you'll have a disconnect.

Since you are trapped within your own preferences and your neighbor is cocooned in his, it's no wonder we don't often see eye-to-eye without explanation. And even then you run the risk of finding no solution, but rather must be satisfied with a draw. I went in to a discussion the other day with the understanding that we may not reach a right or wrong - we might leave this meeting "agreeing to disagree."

I didn't think that was an option. I thought someone always caved.

This is difficult for those of us who like for the advice we bestow to be heeded. But it makes sense. The advice we give comes from experiences we had, but what would have been perfect for what we were going through at the time may not be what someone else needs (or wants) to hear. But still we give it and risk a relationship for the sake of our self-dubbed "wisdom" to be heard.

Which is better: to say what you think and feel the echo of "I told you so" in an hour of collapse, or keep silent and bear the brunt of "why didn't you tell me"?

What if your silence is driven by past hurt and a calloused heart rather than the feeling of the other person? Does that make you terribly selfish?

Drank

Whenever people ask me how I'm doing these day, my initial response is "busy - very, very busy." Not only am I working 40 hours a week at the K-roger, but I've picked up several cleaning/yardwork/office job, I'm looking for a house, and I'm getting ready to move my fiance to Ohio. Oh, and I'm planning a wedding.

Very, very busy.

It's a different kind of busy than ending a semester of school. At school you run around stressed and caffeinated as you panic about how you'll get papers and projects done on time. On top of that you're saying goodbye to friends - some of whom you'll never see again - and professors - some of whom you never want to see again - and the place that's been your everything for the last year. It all means "end." And "end" is sometimes a terrifying prospect.

This "busy" is much more regular - one thing plodding toward one date instead of six projects due on a single day. In eighteen days Joe will be here. Hopefully soon after that we'll find a house. In eleven months and eight days, we'll be married. And until then it's all about chipping away at the giant in careful, methodical chips. When I start to get frustrated my mom asks, "What's the best way to eat an elephant?"

The answer she expects is "one bite at a time."

I was explaining yesterday to a woman at work about why I look like I'm about to fall over after a week of working 40+ hours and gearing up to start another week - which looks very much the same - next week. And while most people shake their heads and say, "How are you not drinking right now?", she smiled and said, "Very busy. But all very happy things."

Yes. All very happy things.

For the first time in my life I am not dreading something. I have many milestones coming up, but for the first time since I was about five years old I am not looking at any of them with fear and loathing. I am beyond excited. In a little over a month my best friend will be here, and I won't have to say goodbye to him and wonder when I'll see him next - we won't have to wait for months on end between visits. Soon after that we'll have a house that will be ours (his first, then mine after we get married). In a little over a year I get to say "I do" to the man of my dreams and the love of my life. And sometimes I do get frustrated. Most of the time I am tired. And my "to-do" list grows faster than I can check things off. But I am happy. I am so unbelievably content. And I am so excited. :)

Wind

I meet my God on the back porch on Sunday mornings when I don't have to work. Once a week I am able to leave my "can I help you" attitude in a drawer and come out to a quiet place to restore my pacing soul. I put down my phone, turn off my noise, and listen to the creatures who rely on God and God alone and remind me to do likewise.

Listen to the birdies, you worrier.

Yesterday I was watching a robin in the front flowerbed as she hunted for food. I doubt she recognizes God the Father as her provider but at no point did she wail to the heavens, "Wherever will my sustenance come from?!" Maybe we give birds too much credit and attribute more faith to them than they really have: I don't necessarily believe that every sound a bird makes is meant in literal praise of their Creator. But you must agree that "panic" does not seem to factor either. Certainly if their nest was on fire or a cat was eating their babies, but that's an appropriate use of such an emotion. Fret and worry don't register in such a routine act as searching for food.

"I find food every day. It may take some work, but every day the earth provides for me."

The buzzword of the past year or so for me has been "worry." But when I step back and look at the situation objectively, I don't really see the necessity for worry when almost every situation I fretted about has been completed with an answer. The provision of my God can be traced not only throughout my story, but in the story of my parents, my friends, their parents - through every story that's even been told, whether it's acknowledged like by us or second-nature like to birds. The trick is to get to the point where a reliance on His answers is second-nature, even if the circumstances are less than routine. But that automatic turning to God's provision should be accompanied by an equally-immediate thanking of His intervention. As my dad always says, this is living with an "attitude of gratitude." This dispels those all-too-familiar feelings of worry as well as entitlement, seeing God's hand as a blessing rather than a thing deserved.

Quite a lesson to learn from something as small as a bird.