The Extroverted Introvert (Also a Squid)

Introvert, extrovert.

Not that there’s anything wrong with labels; that’s why we have language—so we’d have words for things. But it gets tricky when I check the (Facebook) feed and there’s yet another post about Twenty-Five Ways to Deal with Introverts, and every item on the list makes me grin (or cringe) in recognition—yep, that’s me.

And then I embark on another day’s adventures that involve animated chats with friends and my enthusiastic participation in, well, nearly everything, and this restless energy even drives me occasionally to strike up conversations with total strangers. Perhaps they’re wearing a Doctor Who shirt. Perhaps there’s something going on that I’m curious about (often the case). In any event, my day is sprinkled with these random interactions, and I rant and rave as wholeheartedly as any extrovert on caffeine.

But my social meter is limited, finite, and when that point is reached, there’s only one person in the world whose company I crave.


I remember this most especially when I’m finally alone, and it feels like I’m casting off my back weight equivalent to a certain Shutter ghost or a very large . . . squid (I don’t know why; I just have this visual picture). When the space is my own, and the time is my own, and I have only my silence (or music filling it beautifully) and my imagination, I feel sublime.

And therein lies the problem.

Photo by Hannah Creencia, who is probably an actual bunny.

Photo by Hannah Creencia, who is probably an actual bunny.


About Pami Therese

I am a fantasist. This means I’ve never been very impressed with the whole business of growing up, and have therefore decided not to. This also means I see around corners and like all sorts of imaginary things. I am very much myself, which is one thing today and possibly another thing tomorrow. View all posts by Pami Therese

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