Tag: joy

Going Solo (Part 3)

carissaricci

“Bad GPS!” I heard the Uber driver yell as he attempted to get me from the train station to the place I was staying for the night. He knew very little English and I knew even less Portuguese. As we continued to wind through the streets in the dark, I checked to see if my GPS would work properly…and it did. Thankfully. I managed to communicate to him to pull over so I could get in the front seat. My phone wouldn’t fit in the device where he had his, so I held it at eye level for him. The entire trip. My arm was shaking by the time we got there. The situation was so funny, that we ended up bursting into laughter a number of times before we finally found the location and he dropped me off. Another moment that still brings a smile to my face.

So often, we want or expect things to go a certain way—but many times, they don’t. These last few weeks have been such good practice for me to roll with the unexpected while learning some lessons along the way.

Lesson 1: Don’t Assume (You Know What They Say About Assuming, Right?)

In my Bilbao hotel, the shower situation seemed wonky. It was in a small corner in the bathroom which was no big deal. But when I went to open the door, it opened in toward the shower and left barely enough space for me to squeeze myself inside before shutting the door. For the first couple of nights, I found myself wondering how anyone who was any bigger than me would fit. There was no way. Did they pole vault themselves in over the top? Most of my shower time those first days were spent pondering that question. 

On the last night, I grabbed the shower door handle to push it forward and then slipped a little and the shower door went the other direction leaving plenty of space for me to walk in. Yep. That’s right. The shower door opened both directions. I spent my last shower in that hotel room laughing at myself. How many times in life have I done things like that? Making an assumption that the first thing I try is the right way to do it instead of trying the opposite tactic (or at the very least, a different one). 

Lesson 2: Get Creative

On a train from Spain to France, I was sitting next to a man who was reading a graphic novel in Japanese, but he also had his phone open. Puzzled, but not wanting to seem stalker-ish, I ventured a quick glance to see what he was doing. On his phone, he had the same book pulled up in what I guessed was a language he felt confident with. He had headphones on–I’m not sure if he was also listening to it or jamming to his favorite tunes, but I thought it was such a cool way to learn a new language. Learn something new by doing something you love. Another lesson in opening the aperture to different possibilities. 

Lesson 3: TRUST

One of the last legs of my trip took me from Paris to Bruges. Another train ride, with this one connecting through Brussels. When I got off the train to catch the next one, I checked my ticket and asked one of the employees on the platform if she could help me find the train I needed since the train number on my ticket didn’t match any of the departing trains listed on the board. She told me it was the next one coming on the same platform, but I hesitated because that one was going to Amsterdam which was not in the direction I needed to travel. 3 more people later, I finally found someone who looked at the code on my ticket and said, “Yeah, this isn’t going to get you there. Your ticket is for an intercity train. That’s not this one. And I don’t know where it’s leaving from. You’ll just have to check the boards.” With only 5 minutes left to catch it, I could feel urgency pumping through my veins as I scanned the boards. Nothing I could see had my destination, but there was another one going to somewhere else in Belgium and left at the same time as it said on my ticket. It was the best bet, so I grabbed my luggage and raced all the way to Platform 16. Out of breath and wondering if I was even in the ballpark of where I needed to be, I could only hope. Looking at the board on the platform, they finally listed the stops and Bruges was one. It was delayed 8 minutes…I would have made it even if I hadn’t sprinted. 

This particular lesson keeps chasing me down, reminding me to let go and trust. To lean on my intuition and know that I will handle what comes my way.

When I walked back through the door of my home, the oddest feeling came over me—like I was a stranger in my own house.

As my current round of travels have come to a close, I find myself already wanting to buy the next plane ticket to somewhere I haven’t explored yet. I opened Pandora’s Box and there’s no way I’m going to be able to shove everything back inside—and I don’t want to. 

When I walked back through the door of my home, the oddest feeling came over me—like I was a stranger in my own house. I have outgrown my former life. It no longer fits. I was snatched completely out of the hamster wheel of my “normal” life for an extended period of time, and now those patterns that felt slightly uncomfortable before? They feel unbearable now. Instead of feeling like that irritating itch on the back of your neck you get from t-shirt tags, it feels like I’m now wearing clothes made entirely of those same tags.

When I was eating dinner in Lisbon one evening, the server who was taking care of me asked me if it was my first trip to Portugal. I replied that it was, but that I have Portuguese heritage. His eyebrows rose in delight, and then he leaned in and put his hand on my shoulder. “Well then,” he said, “welcome home.” I hadn’t planned on giving my dinner a sprinkling of tears that night, but as I’ve learned…when the tears come, I need to let them be. 

As I’m continuing to reflect on my time abroad, the memory of that moment with the waiter in Portugal keeps coming up, and I think I know why. This trip was another huge step in the returning home to myself. Even if my physical house doesn’t feel like home anymore, I’ve realized I’m at home wherever I go—as long as I’m living in a way that is authentically me.

Exploring Lisbon

Thinking about living the life I want, it sometimes feels like a lonely road. I don’t know a lot of people who want the same type of life I do, but I remind myself that no matter how far the physical distance, I will always be connected to the people I love.

When I was traveling, I messaged a good friend with, “No idea how I’m going to go back to normal life after this.” He replied, “But what if this becomes your new normal life?” As soon as I read what he wrote, I smiled the biggest smile. On my way home, another dear friend messaged me with, “May you be gentle with you and go slow. Everything may look the same as when you left – and yet I have a sense you may not be.”

I keep going back to those wise words from both friends as I try to find my way into whatever this next phase looks like for me. They are another reminder that no matter where I go, the bonds of friendship formed over the years will forever be interwoven into my journey. This is what gives me the courage to keep taking steps forward. To all of the friends in my life who are cheering me on—thank you. Your love and support are helping fuel my feet as I continue to seek out what’s next.

To all of us who are continuing to march toward our own true north, I know it’s hard. Some days, excruciating. But we’ve got this. We really do. So, let’s keep going.

Going Solo (Part 2)

carissaricci

“If a tree falls in the woods, but no one is around to hear it, did it make a noise?” This feels related to a more relevant question for today: “If we don’t take pictures of our experiences and post them, did they really happen?” (In case you’re wondering? Yes. I realize how old I sound when I say things like that.) 

As I’m traveling, I regularly battle against the desire to take pictures of literally everything. Each time I turn a corner, there is some beautiful sight to behold and the temptation to capture it is so strong. After a couple of days of fighting the urge, I made a deal with myself. I could take a few pictures of whatever I wanted, but then I made myself put the phone away and just stand in the moment. Taking it all in. The light. The sounds. The smells. The feelings. And I let myself say things like “I can’t believe I’m actually standing here looking at this.” I allowed the goodness to wash over me and didn’t move on until I felt ready.

Photography is a favorite hobby of mine, so it’s ridiculously easy for me to get swept up in capturing a moment while forgetting to actually be in the moment. The lesson for me in all of this is to slow down and intentionally be present in my life as much as possible. Much easier said than done—but a worthy cause.

Similarly, I had to resist the pull to see “all the things”. As I walked the streets, a little voice in the back of my mind would whisper, “How can you come to [insert city name] and not see [insert name of famous structure/art piece/park…]? If you’re not seeing those things, are you really doing this trip right?” As the days passed, it became easier to quiet that voice. And the people I met along the way helped me. 

My first impulse was to feel frustration at the unexpected turn of events, but then I realized that my word of intention for 2023 was TRUST. So I trusted. And I’m so glad I did.

About halfway through the train trip from Bilbao to Barcelona, we suddenly ground to a halt. Everyone around me was chattering away in Spanish and I had no clue what was going on. The woman next to me, seeing that I couldn’t understand, opened her phone and typed a phrase into Google Translate to let me know that the delay was likely going to be a long one—at least an hour. 

My first impulse was to feel frustration at the unexpected turn of events, but then I realized that my word of intention for 2023 was TRUST. So I trusted. And I’m so glad I did. That first sentence she typed into Google Translate turned into hours of us typing back and forth to each other—a friendship forged out of what some would deem a misfortune. I learned about where she was from, things she loved to do, and some interests we had in common. When she found out I grew up in California, she said something that I didn’t understand and gestured like she was a gorilla. My quizzical expression sent her back to her phone and she typed “Arnold Schwarzenegger”. I laughed and typed back, “It’s sad to me that’s what people outside the states think of when they think of California,” which then sent us both into a fit of giggles and a handful of Terminator jokes. 

It then hit me that I would need to try and contact the person who was supposed to meet me where I was staying to let me in. It was already going to be a late check-in, but now I wondered how in the world I was supposed to expect someone to stay up past midnight to let me in. His response? “I won’t leave you sleeping in the streets! And remember: there’s nothing to worry about, we are in Spain!” Another lesson in trusting. In believing in the goodness of other humans. In rolling with the moment. Everything has a way of working out—even if it’s not in the way we expect. 

Looking up in La Sagrada Familia

After arriving in Barcelona and getting a good sleep, I found myself in La Sagrada Familia the next day. I had seen it from the outside before, but had never been inside and let me tell you—if you’re questioning whether or not to buy the ticket, DO IT. It was one of the few places I’ve been where my breath was literally taken away when I stepped through the doors. I let myself marvel at every incredible view. As I wondered into each nook and cranny, I found this small area in a back corner with an agent standing at the entrance. He informed me that the space was for meditation, reflection, or prayer and that there were no pictures allowed. I agreed and entered. It was a chapel space with a few pews and only one other person already there—he left soon after I took my seat in the back. My intention was for reflection. I’m not a religious person and trying to meditate in such a spectacular setting felt like it was just setting me up for failure in such a mind-blowingly beautiful place. Good luck not getting distracted, right? 

As I sat there reflecting on my life, and in particular, these last few years—the tears flowed freely. The culmination of the “everything’s” and the intensity of those “everything’s”. Joy. Grief. Pain. Exuberance. Gratitude. All at once. In this transcendent space, I let myself feel it all. A woman walked in a minute later and my first reaction was one of embarrassment until I realized that she was crying, too. She took her seat at the other end of the pew I was sitting in, and we both took in the gorgeous light of the stained glass windows while feeling all the feels. I don’t know anything about her. I don’t know her name or what her life is like. I don’t know why she was crying. But in that moment, I felt inextricably connected to her. After I had processed what I felt like I needed, I got ready to leave. I looked over at her and she looked back at me. Tears still in our eyes, we each placed a hand over our hearts in acknowledgement of the other. A soft smile which was immediately reciprocated. And then I slipped out quietly, not wanting to disturb the rest of her time.

When I’m headed in the right direction, I now have deep clarity about what that feels like. Heart forward. Heart open.

When I finally stepped outside to get one last look at this massive architectural masterpiece, I felt an all-consuming warmth and contentment of spirit—and also a renewed resolve to continue following this path I’m on. Something has clicked in a big way for me on this trip. When I’m headed in the right direction, I now have deep clarity about what that feels like. Heart forward. Heart open.

Yesterday, I caught a train from Aix-en-Provence to Bordeaux and as I was waiting on the platform, three Italian women came and sat next to me, asking me if they were catching the right train. Trotting out the faithful Google Translate, we had a lovely conversation as we waited. When we parted at the transfer in Marseille, the woman I talked with the most thanked me for the chat, wished me a wonderful trip, and kissed me on each cheek with a “Ciao, bella!” and a hearty wave in farewell.

So, in answer to my previous question of “Am I doing this trip right?” The answer is YES. Absolutely. These new friends and moments of true connection mean more to me than any place I’ve visited. Although all of my experiences over the last few weeks will forever hold a special place in my heart, it’s the lovely interactions I will remember most—a vibrant reminder of our shared humanity. What a gift.

Going Solo

carissaricci

You know that phrase, “Wherever you go, there you are”? That used to hold such a negative connotation for me—as if I had to drag the heavy luggage filled with all of my pain and trauma behind me for the rest of my life with no escape. At some point along the way, I reframed it. It was no longer about fighting against who I am, but embracing it. One of life’s many great ironies.

I began to take each piece of clothing out of that luggage and make friends with parts of myself that I had previously tried to shove out of sight. In grappling with that process, I’ve found a peace and calm in my life that I didn’t think I could have. Does that mean everything’s perfect and I feel like that all the time? No way. It’s an ongoing process. I often have to grab that luggage, sit on the floor, slide the zippers, fling it open, and redouble my efforts to accept all the pieces inside.

To help me take the leap, I planned a trip—a big one.

For most of my life, I’ve been waiting for someone to give me permission to be who I am, to accept myself, and to do the things I know are right for me. Why? Because it feels safer to walk that road…even if it means not living life to the fullest. I’ve decided I’m no longer willing to make that sacrifice. The latest chapter in my story has been asking me to take a different way. To honor my truest self. To craft my own path and write my story in a way that honors my deepest longing.  

To help me take the leap, I planned a trip—a big one. I offered a few different friends the opportunity to join me, but it didn’t end up working out. I wasn’t necessarily planning to do it solo, but something deep down within me knew that it needed to be. As my departure date approached, I found myself feeling grateful. A few years ago, I wouldn’t have imagined doing something like this by myself, but lately, the yearning to explore has continued to knock at the door—louder and louder. And the thought of having the freedom to wander in my own way was eagerly beckoning.

To give myself even more of a challenge to step outside my comfort zone, I booked a few nights in a hostel dorm. I had no idea what to expect, but it has been one of my favorite experiences so far. So many kind humans have crossed my path, willing to share their tips and recommendations and allowing me to return the favor with my suggestions. After hitting it off with one particular dorm mate, we ended up spending the afternoon together on a trip down the river and then grabbed a bite to eat while swapping life stories and travel tales. One of many beautiful moments that will stay with me long after the trip ends.

The evening before, our hostel hosted a folk dancing night. Normally, this is something where I’d sit on the sidelines to enjoy it. But not here. Not only was I invited in, but I genuinely wanted to be part of it. There was so much joy and laughter exploding out of that room as we swung each other around, not caring if we “messed it up”…when we made a misstep, we just laughed harder. I went to bed that night with an incredibly full heart and a huge smile on my face.

So, what’s next? I’m currently on a train speeding through the European countryside watching the sun sink lower and lower in the sky, marveling at the beauty all around me. Not sure what my next few days of exploration will bring—and I don’t need to know. There’s so much joy in stepping off a train into a new town and getting lost in its streets. I have a few more weeks of adventuring to my heart’s content and I’m not rushing any part of it. I’m taking things one hour at a time and delighting in the unknown, which is new for me (but fits all the same). I have met so many wonderful people, and even though I’m traveling solo, I have never once felt alone. 

I know how I want to feel, and for now, that’s plenty good enough. My plan is to keep saying yes.

I’m only a little over a week in and my soul feels like it has been lit on fire in the best way. For the first time in a very long time, I feel completely in my life. This is giving me a small taste of so many things I want more of. I don’t know what the future is going to look like, but I’m okay with that. I know how I want to feel, and for now, that’s plenty good enough. My plan is to keep saying yes. To plane rides. To bus rides. To train rides. To trying new things. To making new friends. To living in other countries. To satisfying that curious wanderer in me. To continue expanding the edges of my comfort zone—all in pursuit of the continued returning home to myself. 

If you’re on the fence about jumping into something you know is right for you, but you’re feeling a little nervous about it, this is your sign. Take the leap. You’re not alone—I’m doing it right alongside you. We can jump together.

It’s Just Like Riding a Bike

carissaricci

Remember when those training wheels first came off?

For me, I had a mix of thoughts like:

“Can I really do this?”

“What if I fall? How badly is it going to hurt?”

“I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like when I’m doing it right. How will I know?”

“What if I focus on the wrong things and keep crashing into them?”1

If only I knew then what a phenomenal metaphor this would be for trying anything new. Even when change is exciting and positive, I still find myself in a similar swirl of those thoughts. 

Having been through many situations that have stretched me before, this feeling is becoming more familiar, but each time I navigate a new challenge, I still have to work through the process. I do a 10-point check around my bike, make sure my helmet is securely fastened, and then pedal like hell—hoping to keep myself upright (or at least aim for a soft landing in a nearby bush).2 

There is this space between the familiar and the next step that feels daunting. That moment right before you lift your foot off the ground to place it on the pedal…the amount of trust it takes to raise that foot. The knowledge that you’ll be okay if you fall. That eventually, you’ll get it. That someday, you will be coasting down the path as if it’s second nature, and you won’t feel the same self-doubt when you raise your foot to the pedal anymore. You won’t even think about it. I try to channel that feeling when I face a new opportunity. Sometimes, it works…sometimes, it takes a little bit to get there.

As this restless feeling built, I put it out to the universe with the simple phrase, “I’m ready.” Little did I know quite how seriously the universe would take me. 

For months now, I’ve been playing around with the idea of doing something different in my professional life. The full-time corporate gig has never really fit who I am, and I have been feeling more and more restless as the months passed—wondering when the time would be right and how I would know when to take the leap. As this restless feeling built, I put it out to the universe with the simple phrase, “I’m ready.” Little did I know quite how seriously the universe would take me. 

To say that there’s uncertainty with the future of my current job is an understatement. Reflecting on the situation a few days ago, I heard the phrase, “You said you were ready,” and I had to smile. I did ask for it. And here it was. Asking me to trust myself and put my foot on the pedal.

The thing we can often forget is to lean on our community in these moments—people who have ridden this particular bike before. Those who want to lend a hand and hold onto the back of your seat until you’re finally confident enough for them to let go. I’m so grateful for the humans in my circle. The ones teaching me how to maneuver this new bike. The ones holding onto the seat for support. The ones cheering me on from the sidelines. 

This dream of mine will unlock so much I’ve been craving—freedom, flexibility, and the chance to craft a life that is well-lived and in full alignment with who I am. Is it a little scary? Sure. Does self-doubt sometimes creep in? You bet. Is that going to stop me? Not a chance. 

(Would it have stopped me 3 years ago? Probably. 5 years ago? Most certainly.)

I share all of this to say: we all have our own process and timing. If you’re feeling stuck or frustrated that fear is holding you back from where you want to go, I get it. I’ve been there. And honestly, I still grapple with it. The in-between stage of anything can feel paralyzing. We all have those moments where we’re faced with the decision to put our foot on the pedal or to play it safe and keep both rooted firmly to the ground. In this next phase of life, my intention is to pick my foot up more times than not and to start believing in myself more than I ever have before. Working through that self-doubt is no longer a “nice to have”…it’s a requirement—and it’s a battle I’m willing to keep waging because the prize is a life that feels like I’m no longer trying to shove a round peg in a square hole.

Lao Tzu said, “When I let go of what I am,
I become what I might be.”

I’ve had to say farewell to many different versions of myself over the last few years, and while painful, it has absolutely been worth it. With every shedding of a past self, I feel one step closer to the soul of who I really am. This is the light I always find on the other side of the difficult feelings that come when saying goodbye to a former version. 

As I prepare to step into this next chapter, I know I’ll see those familiar friends I’d rather not: self-doubt, grief, fear…but I am also buoyed up by the knowledge that I’m walking toward some other friends as well: joy, alignment, exhilaration, and contentment. Lao Tzu said, “When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be.” When I feel myself hesitate in that liminal place, I remember those words and let them gently push me forward.

As we let go of those parts of ourselves that are no longer serving our deepest purpose, we can find inspiration in all kinds of places. We can remind ourselves that even though the specifics of the situation might be different from others we’ve previously navigated, we’ve done this before. We can put our feet on those pedals and give it a go. We might wobble a bit. We might even fall a few times. But before we know it, we’ll be flying down a trail somewhere with the breeze on our faces and a strong sense of peace planted firmly in our hearts. And who knows? In doing so, we might also encourage others to grab a bike they’ve been wanting to ride, but haven’t yet plucked up the courage to try.

If anyone else wants to join me, it’s time to hit the trail. Let’s ride.

1 Simon Sinek talks about how important it is to focus on the path rather than the trees. This scene from Frasier also highlights this importance in a slightly more comical way. Bonus? The scene also involves bikes. #fullcircle

2 “Taking on a challenge is a lot like riding a horse, isn’t it? If you’re comfortable while you’re doing it, you’re probably doing it wrong.” – Ted Lasso 

The Joy of Being an Introvert

carissaricci

For most of my life, “introvert” felt like a bad word. When I was growing up, if you weren’t outgoing and didn’t enjoy being the center of attention, it was seen as weird. Labels like “quiet” and “reserved” felt less like categories and more like judgments. It didn’t feel like there was much space in the world for people who weren’t always clamoring to be in the center ring.

This thinking also set us up to put people into one of two categories. Introverted or extroverted. There was no middle ground. You either fit neatly into one box or the other so we knew what to call you. In addition, I’ve heard the misconceptions that if you’re introverted, you’re anti-social and if you’re extroverted, you’re the life of the party. I love being social. I just have a time limit. Introversion and extroversion are mostly about how people recharge best, but because of existing narratives and our incessant need to put people into categories, it can be exhausting to navigate it all. This is also potentially why I struggled so much with trying to figure out where I belonged. 

Have you seen those banners you can get for parties with special messages? Instead of “Happy Birthday”, they now make ones that say “Please Leave By 9”. I feel like that’s a perfect metaphor for how I operate.

Even though I’m mostly introverted, I’m not 100% introverted. I do have a bit of extrovert in me. She loves to connect with friends, go to parties, concerts, sporting events…but when she’s had her fun? She’s DONE. The introvert in me has gotten really good at tapping the extroverted part of me on the shoulder when it’s time to call it. Have you seen those banners you can get for parties with special messages? Instead of “Happy Birthday”, they now make ones that say “Please Leave By 9”. I feel like that’s a perfect metaphor for how I operate. I love you. I want to spend time with you. But I will need you to exit stage left when my battery dies.

I’ve always been an internal processor—someone who likes to go deep. Small talk bores me to tears. I’m not nearly as interested in what you think of the weather as I am about the last time you felt complete joy or worked through something really difficult. You’ll often find me asking questions like, “What was happening for you at that time?” “What did you find most meaningful about that moment?” Those are the answers I really want to know. I don’t mind some small talk and understand that we need it in our world, but if that’s all our conversations consist of, you’ll probably find me struggling to maintain eye contact while wondering what the barista behind the counter at the coffee shop we’re at is planning to do on her break. Or why the person in the corner booth has a worried expression on their face. Are they anxious about a loved one? Studying for a final exam? Trying to work through a leg cramp?

Transitioning into the professional world, I often felt as though I couldn’t truly be myself and that my potential and talent wasn’t seen the same way because I didn’t “show up” in the manner my more extroverted colleagues did. On multiple occasions, I’d be in casual conversation with coworkers on a project and inevitably, someone would say about someone else, “Well, you know they’re an introvert right?” as if it was some sort of horrible affliction. It was usually said in hushed tones so as not to offend said introvert if they happened to be walking by.  (FYI, the introverts in question usually know someone is talking about them because as it turns out, they tend to be fairly perceptive.) In those moments, I could literally feel the shame wash over me as I tried to smile and quickly come up with some sort of contribution to the conversation so that I wouldn’t be labeled with the same ghastly title.

I’m saying this as much to myself as I am to you: there is no shame in being exactly who you are.

I thought there was no way I was ever going to be accepted or successful unless I could beat that poor, tired, little introverted part right out of myself. I would consistently ramp myself up so that I could appear the way I thought I should. It wasn’t until recently when I realized that in doing that, I had been betraying myself. Over and over again. It was time to stop. 

I’m saying this as much to myself as I am to you: there is no shame in being exactly who you are. That doesn’t mean we don’t grow or change. But trying to twist yourself into a shape that doesn’t feel right while trying to convince yourself that it’s in the interest of your growth and development is something else entirely. 

So how do I (sometimes clumsily attempt to) navigate this? The first step is to tackle self-judgment. That tenacious and relentless beast. Look it right in the eyes and thank it for trying to protect you, but then tell it that you’ve got this and you don’t need it to be in the forefront anymore. If I’m in a place where I have to fundamentally change who I am to be fully valued and appreciated, that’s not the place for me. If you’re struggling with this same thing right now, I’m here to deliver a message. There are places where you can be yourself. Where the people will celebrate the very things that other environments you’ve experienced didn’t. Where you can share your gifts, exactly as you are. Keep searching. Those places are out there. I promise. While no situation is perfect, you’ll know the right one when you find it.

Even when you find a good spot to land, there are always challenges to tackle. We know that there’s value in having a mix of extroverts and introverts on a project, but we have not yet perfected how to get the most out of those moments and experiences. If we’re still having our meetings in the same ways we always have, then we’re not doing those conversations justice. If we’re still operating under the assumption that meetings are the only effective ways to collaborate, we’re missing the mark. And also missing out on a whole lot of great ideas that might never see the light of day because of the limited ways in which we view how to get work done.

Walking the beach with no one in sight…one of the best ways to recharge this introvert’s battery.

In my life outside of work, I have friends who fall into the introverted box, the extroverted box, and all the boxes in the middle, and I can say with absolute certainty that my life is so much richer for it. The thing I love the most is that we just get each other. Instead of being ashamed of who we are, we recognize it and appreciate it. We find the joy in it. When I’m hanging out with my most extroverted friend, it’s like they can literally see a battery icon on my forehead. When it gets to the red zone, they give me the biggest of hugs and say, “Let’s connect again soon!” 

How wonderful would it be if we all did that for each other?

To all my brilliantly exuberant extroverts: I see you. I honor you. Yes, I’ll go to that concert or party. I’ll dance until 2AM (as long as it’s not two nights in a row).

To all of the ambiverted in-betweeners: I see you. I honor you. I’ll always be up for trying something that sounds energizing to us both. Even if it’s a mishmash of seemingly unrelated activities. I’m down.

To all my fellow introverts: I see you. I honor you. And I’ll always leave by 9.