Despite my evolving appreciation for talking to strangers, the quiet rhythm I had been experiencing at the archery range quickly became my ideal baseline experience. It was easy to slide in and out of a row of archers, each just enough aware of the other to be safe and respectful, but mostly concentrating on their own business. The SLAP. SLAP. SLAP. of an afternoon bow & arrow session could be going before you arrive and continuing after you leave. There was something poetic about it. The absolute worst case scenario was being one of only two archers. Whether rolling up to find a sole companion already in action, or having your peaceful range time disrupted by an arriving stranger - both were helplessly awkward. Either small talk had to commence or chilly silence would prevail, and neither lent itself to the tranquil state I was after. One afternoon, I was the dreaded second to arrive. I felt particularly self-conscious because I was definitely interrupting something. T...
For most of my life I considered myself an introvert. I'm sure the introvert/extrovert binary was taught to me in some middle school health class where I chose a side and stuck with it. I didn't see myself as an outgoing kid. I definitely had friends to laugh and play with, but because I liked to read and draw and never felt bold enough to play sports or ask a girl to a dance, I assumed that meant I was the quiet kind. It surely had to be one or the other. Before the introduction of Hogwarts houses, this divide must have been the first pop psychology personality crisis most kids experienced. A conclusion like this could inform a person's thoughts about themselves forever, as it did for me until a few years ago. Before the pandemic, the office building I worked in had a little convenience store in the downstairs lobby. It was the perfect location for a quick coffee or a mid-day snack. Almost every day, a couple of coworkers and I would take the elevator down there just to ...