As I sit here beginning this blog post, it is Sunday at noon. And I have been alone for almost three hours. And during those three hours, I have dowloaded some new music, had a long, satisfying run (a personal best!), and done laundry and facebooked and taken a gloriously (and likely also highly irresponsibly) long shower. And now I am sitting here. In the purple sundress I bought last year but can't wear in public because I discovered it was see-through. Sipping my second coffee. Fingers on the keyboard. And listening.
I can hear things. I can hear birds outside my window. I can hear the padding of cat paws on the kitchen tiles. The neighbours lawnmower. I can hear the ticka-ticka-ticka of the keys as I type. I can hear my own breathing. A slight rustle of breeze. Someone's windchimes. The sound of swallowing coffee as I pause to think. The clock ticking. I can hear all these things, and it occurs to me how much I don't hear in the regular swing of my life, when cacophony and chaos (however adorable) reign.
Sometimes I forgot the impact in my life of being an introvert. Not in the social sense - I'm highly aware that I'm that girl that always really wants to meet new people and make new connections but gets hopelessly tongue-tied and self-conscious when the opportunity arises - I mean in my day-to-day life as a parent. I am an introvert with two really, really, extremely active, passionate and holy-fucking-LOUD kidlets. For 10-13 hours a day, every day, my home is filled with activity. Noise. Motion. A constant supply of kinetic energy. For the most part, I am glad of this. I have vibrant and wildly energetic smalls who live with a whole lotta gusto. Two different, but very big personalities (well, three if you count mine ;). Most days, their verve feels like a win.
BUT - there is not a lot of room in my life to nurse the introvert in me. Sometimes, the volume and movement seems so normal, so natural, so unavoidable, that I forget exactly how much I depend on quiet and stillness and space for introspection to come back to myself, to regroup. And how rare a bird such quiet and stillness and space is.
So, for as much time as I have today, I will luxuriate in this aloneness, in the hopes that I find myself somewhat reenergized to keep up with these amazing wild things that make my world so full of noise... and life.