The Introverts Are Not Okay
If forced proximity has you drained, you’re not alone
On a typical weekday morning a year ago, my husband would wake before dawn to try to get ahead of the morning commute, my son would sneak in a few minutes of Minecraft before hastily getting ready for school, and my daughter would be finishing homework at the breakfast table while lobbying for a ride to avoid the dreaded school bus. My alarm would have been set to an uncomfortably early hour in order to facilitate all of this activity, and I would have slurped my coffee while also feeding the dog and signing a permission slip and texting my neighbor about the soccer carpool.
But then, once the dog was walked and my husband went off to work and the kids were off to school, I would sit down to my second cup of coffee in absolute, blissful silence.
I’m a writer, and I’ve been working at home for years now. This time last year, I had that home/workspace all to myself during my working hours. Even the inevitable household tasks that infiltrated my writing time could be done while also teasing out the threads of an essay idea in my head. Time spent taking a walk or preparing my lunch was also time that I was untangling a plot problem in my novel. I could sit down and read a story in the New Yorker and then leap up to find a notebook to scribble down the thoughts…
