An introverted extrovert

Hullo readers one and all!

A bit of a rambler for you today, but it was inspired by a podcast I was listening to on my government-prescribed one hour walk this morning. Phoebe Waller-Bridge, the icon that she is, was speaking to Deborah Frances-White (two goddesses, both alike in feministry), about the current situation, and they soon landed upon a discussion about extroverts and introverts. Now it's maybe passed me by, and the rest of you have perhaps been silently holding on to this information for years, but apparently introverts get their energy from themselves, where extroverts get their energy from other. That's essentially what the two terms mean. It's less about how much you enjoy a social situation, but more about what you need to fuel you, i.e. do you need other people more than you need alone time, or vice versa?

Now, this obviously came with the probably unsurprising penny-drop moment that I am in fact an extrovert. A huge one. But the revelation was more nuanced than that bell-tolling moment alone, as it also got me thinking about how that badge of 'extrovert' impacts the rest of my life, and also how the current situation is opening a whole can of previously unexplored Corona-grown worms...now I almost got through two whole paragraphs without this particular dreaded 'c-word' finding its way into my verbalised thoughts (and you'll be pleased to hear the other dreaded 'c-word' only ever makes it into my unverbalised ones), but it's almost impossible not to talk about this particular elephant in the room. Especially when it's using it's trunk to spray you head to toe with soul-destroying doom and gloom every five minutes. And if there's even the smallest chance you've forgotten about it for 8 seconds or more, it stomps its feet, bares its tusks and trumpets about till you can't ignore it. I think what I perfectly articulated there is that Corona virus is the teenage-tantrum tyrant of the viral kingdom.

But - back to the point...(I did warn you this was a rambler). My realisation of being an extrovert has helped me to identify and articulate the things that I am finding particularly difficult about this time. This is all with the overarching caveat that I am incredibly fortunate in my situation (to have my own health, my friends' and family's safety, and a steady income during this difficult time), but if you didn't come to this blog to revel in my shameless self-indulgence, what did you come here for? So - what exactly am I finding difficult about life in Lockdown? Well, I suppose, put simply, I am literally finding it difficult to muster the energy to do it all.

Working out what I'm going to cook, and therefore what I'll eat. Working out what to wear, what book to read and what to watch. Working out how I'll work my way through the 9-5 (more like 8-6!) every day of the week. Working out what to write, how to write and why I write. It seems like all the things that bring me joy - the parts of my life that rather ludicrously I love (such as choosing which pair of earrings to wear. If it were an Olympic sport I would be going for gold!) - it seems like all of this has suddenly lost its fuel. The fire in my belly that transforms me into a juggler, a master of spinning plates, and a miracle of multi-tasking, is dwindling to a gentle simmer. And that's because people are my fuel. People are my logs to burn, and I am merely the lumberjack (like father, like daughter).

I don't even really think this is a sad revelation. In fact its sort of a wonderful one. All the amazing people in my life - those I spend 3 hours Skyping, those I drink Champagne over Facetime with, those I Zoom party with, those I live with, those I laugh and giggle and joke with, those I travel with, those I spend all my money with, those best friends who are my sisters, and the sister who is also my best friend, my family, my mum, my dad, my Percy (yes, he counts) - all those people, even those friends of friends and loose acquaintances, they are all part of this messy, colourful, beautiful Jackson Pollock painting that is my life. I am a canvas coloured by the rich experiences that the people in my life bring me. So that's why I guess my canvas feels a little uninspired right now. It's waiting. I am waiting. Biding my time, prepping the washes of colour, and coating the base of my artistry so it's ready to receive all the wonderful wit which the people of my life come bearing.

I knew Corona Virus would turn me into a soppy so-and-so. I apologise. But I think it's an imagery and an idea that has helped me come to terms with why I haven't felt much like writing or performing right now. And it gives me a bit of an excuse so I don't just constantly beat myself up about it...and I will write (in fact I am writing - this blog post for a start, but also a few new sketches up my sleeves), so it's not that my canvas is completely blank, it's just that I've been so fortunate to have such richness and fullness over the past couple of years, and I guess I am feeling the fall out of not getting to see any of your faces in the flesh. I paint in a muted palette until I can hug you all once more.

As I said, this is a happy revelation, not a sad one, and so although it's a 'wish you were here now' it's also very much an 'I'm glad you were here with me then, and I know you'll be here with me again very soon'. A big old thank you just for being there. For being you - whoever you are - because whether you've inspired poetry in me, or whether you've been the source of inspiration for a comedy sketch, then you have a huge role in my creative life. And sorry if I've ever based a sketch on you. Frankly I'd count it as an honour.

Until we meet again...

and until I apparently shamelessly use your wonderful energy to fuel my own creativity.

I owe you one.

xx