The Outgoing Introvert

4 teenagers

 

#1 fans of this blog (I'm talking to you, Malaysian spammers!) may have noticed the format change to this website.  That is Mr. C's contribution.  Since, as we established last post, I give Zero F*cks these days, I told him he could change the theme as he saw fit, as he informed me that the one I chose years ago "looked too old".  I find this amusing because I think the theme he chose looks like 1940's at the Copacabana.  But whatever: this is a blog for one, and The One has spoken.

It's funny the things he finds interesting and the ones he doesn't.  After I wrote that post about rolling on the floor whining because I had this self-imposed deadline and nothing I felt like writing about, Mr. C happily read it and seemed content.

"Don't think about it so much!" he cajoled.  "Just write whatever you want to write!"  

Feeling empowered, I then wrote about giving Zero F*cks.  And I was just tickled with myself about it, and loved that I had such terribly-awful pictures to illustrate my point.  I thought it was a fun little post, and I was kind of proud of it.

Mr. C, however, was not impressed.  "It's all about fashion," he complained.

"No, it's about giving zero f*cks," I countered.

He put on his philosopher's voice.  "I just don't need to see a bunch of pictures of my mom's outfits," he rationalized.  "It's simply not interesting."

And so we are back to what I thought we'd be back to: trying to write about Mr. C (interesting!) without embarrassing him. I tried really hard for this post; I did!  But I think I pretty much failed again: I only wrote a little about Mr. C, likely embarrassing him in the process, then I switched back to writing more about me.  I just can't seem to stop being self-involved.  So let's get down to it, shall we?

My new favorite photo of Mr. C.  (We'll at least TRY to start this post right.)

 

It's odd to have a teenager now.   He's officially taller than both Bee and me.  His voice is as deep as his dad's.  And he'll sometimes put his foot down so hard about something that I really have to consider if it's worth the fight.  (Unfortunately, I'm even more stubborn than he is, so it's often "worth the fight" even if it's not really worth the fight, if you know what I mean.)

But he's not reached the point of teenagerism where I hate him and am ready for him to leave the house, so that's a bonus!  He's really a good kid: sweet with foster kittens, doesn't mind telling his parents he loves them, and -- the pinnacle of good-boy goody-two-shoes -- currently working on earning his Eagle Scout rank.  

That's right: Proud Momma of a Life Scout

 I don't have a lot to complain about.  This may be, in part, because he and I are so alike: we value our alone-time, so I don't mind one bit that he wants to spend his free time closed up in his room on his computer, in a very teenagery-fashion.  I want the exact same thing.

Bee, however, does not understand this one bit.  He thinks this is a sign of depression, and wishes Mr. C had more friends and was outside playing more often.  He thinks this isolation is a sign of the times.  He doesn't seem to remember the scores of our peers who spent their weekends on their Ataris or Game Boys.  And, sure: Mr. C and his friends are more likely to play computer games in separate houses than they are to hang out in the same room, but I kind of think the end result is the same: lots of my generation spent their free time playing Super Mario Brothers, and lots of Mr. C's generation spend their free time playing Roblox.

Bee was never a "video game guy", though.  He was a "go-out-with-your-buddies, see-what-kind-of-trouble-you-can-find" kind of guy.  At Mr. C's current age, Bee biked and then hiked five miles into the Arizona desert with his 10-year-old brother, a friend, and no water . . . just to have something to do.  (This resulted in his brother passing out from heat stroke and the 13-year-olds dragging him back to the road to flag down a passing vehicle to drive them back to town.  So much better than sitting at home playing computer games!)

A few years ago, Bee and I were having a conversation with the mom of one of Mr. C's friends.  Well, to say we were "having a conversation" is a little bit of an overstatement: she babbled a mile a minute for an hour while Bee occasionally nodded and I cringed as my back seized up from standing in one spot for so long.  Still, I'll never begrudge this woman for that hour, as she dropped some deep sh!t on me that really helped me understand myself and my relationship with Bee:

The woman pointed out that she was an extrovert (shocker), and that she needed to be around other people to get energy.  Her husband  -- a teacher and pastor -- could be very outgoing when called for, but he needed to go off and be by himself in order to recharge.

That's when I finally understood how I could eagerly get up and lead a Cub Scout Pack or make a speech in front of a huge group of people but still consider myself to be an introvert: extroversion and introversion aren't all based on your comfort level with other people, but also on what you need in order to recharge your spirit.  If Bee needs a pick-me-up, it's probably going to happen by going out to a party or playing with one of his bands.  If I need a pick-me-up, all I need is Netflix and a bar of chocolate and for everyone to leave me the f*ck alone.

Mr. C is kind of in the middle, though I think he leans a little more my way.  I don't think this is a bad thing: thanks to that mom, I've realized we're perfectly capable of being social, but that there's nothing wrong with being anti-social, either.  

Bee has a really tough time understanding this, though.  I tell him he doesn't have to understand it; he just has to accept it.  

He has a hard time doing that, too.

COVID's been tough for Bee because he wants to be able to go out and do things.  While I spent the last 2 years thrilled that I had a valid excuse not to hug people, Bee missed that human interaction.  While I felt like I spent my whole life preparing for quarantine and then luxuriated in not having to do a thing but sit home and watch TV, Bee pinged around the house needing to find an outlet for his anxiety (unfortunately, this got him waaaay into armageddon-esque YouTube videos that only sent him further down rabbit holes of which there are no bottoms.)

And now, for better or worse, our city is starting to open up even more.  Just today, they announced that they're probably dropping mask mandates for the schools, and there are no longer any restrictions on gatherings.  Bee is thrilled. 

"It's all good news!" he chortles to me.  And it is, because -- for nearly the first time in 2 years -- there aren't any limitations on our business to keep us from trying to make a living again.

But the introvert in me isn't happy.  Even before COVID, I'd rather be eating take-out at home than yelling over a crowd in a restaurant.  I'd rather be in my pj's on the couch than fully-dressed in a movie theater.  Getting back to being around people is not something I look forward to the way Bee does.

(And, honestly, I'm not ready for the yo-yo of our county's transmission rates going down so everything suddenly opens up, which then causes the transmission rates to go back up and we have to shut everything down again.  It's mentally exhausting.)

Luckily, despite Bee's anxiety at being home and my anxiety about having to rejoin society, Mr. C seems remarkably unscathed.  Did we manage not to ruin him for life over these last 2 years?  

When he is in therapy in his thirties, will it be because of the sh!t Bee and I did normally, or because of the sh!t that came on during COVID?  Will he spend the next few teenage years sneaking out at night because he wants to "stick it to the man", or because he spent 2 years with his mom telling him the crowded indoor bowling alley was "just not worth the risk"?

(Although, really: is bowling ever worth the risk?  The sweat-laden finger holes and the dingy, rented shoes, all so you can turn around and complete the inevitable walk of shame back to your seat after rolling yet-another gutter ball.)

But Mr. C puts on a good face.  Although he, too, rolls his eyes over the decision to drop mask mandates in an area that barely lifted Crisis Standards of Care, I sometimes wonder if he's just rolling his eyes for my sake.  ("I gotta make the ol' lady believe I'm on her side so she'll calm down and let me go bowling.")

I suspect, though, that there's enough of his extroverted dad in him to let him be open and unafraid of things that his introverted mom just doesn't want to deal with.  

Which is good.  Because when he's in therapy trying to figure out why he can't have a meaningful relationship, he can point to the fact that his parents always pulled him in different emotional directions.  The therapist will lock in on that, they'll work through it quickly, and Mr. C will be able to meet and marry the girl of his dreams.

She'll be an outgoing introvert . . . who works at a bowling alley.