Surviving The Fall, 40

I was never an authentic introvert, even though I have and do spend a lot of time alone. And I wonder if this is also the case for a lot of self-defined introverts. There is so much bullying and mistreatment when we are children: in my case I was daily beaten up by my older brother and my mother, then when I came to school I would get the same from other kids (though usually they didn't hit me, they just called me names and shunned me, and likely because I was so broken down and hostile already from my lousy home environment that I wasn't exactly an attractive kid to hang out with) Going for long solitary walks, even when I was eight years old, became for me the default option for feeling safe. No one could usually find me. I really wanted to be with other kids, but even when I was tolerated, the closer friendships always seemed to pass me by. Certain other kids, who also were disliked or not popular, did try to befriend me, but we would eventually lose interest, because no one wants to be a default option. It hasn't been all bad. In fact, it's all turned out pretty good. All this enforced solitude, even if it wasn't welcomed, helped me develop an inner life. I became introspective and reflective. Even when I was just eight years old and out for a walk at night after dinner (neighbourhoods were much safer in those days, or maybe parents were a lot more negligent. Take your pick), usually on my way to the corner store, a half mile walk in our semi-rural neighbourhood, to pick up lettuce, tomatoes, cigarettes for mom and a chocolate bar for myself, I became particularly aware of the moon and its phases. It came to be like the moon was walking with me, because it was always moving with me, or so it seemed. So, I came to claim as a friend the moon. Likewise the stars, and especially the constellation Orion. I cannot remember how I came to identify Orion when I was just ten years old. I think it was because, as an introvert by default with also a powerful and rapidly developing intelligence, I spent a lot of time reading encyclopedias. Orion became my friend, and a kind of protector and cosmic companion. The particularly brilliant star in his sword also became very special to me. I was already a deep thinker at the age of twelve and already concerned and knowledgeable about world events. I wasn't distracted by sports, or in adolescence by the brutal popularity competition that comes to consume kids' lives as they get ready for the work and corporate world when they become adults. This is the dance that God has kept from me. I have no regrets. So, I've always lived at the margins, never popular, and always seeing what others don't, because mistreatment and rejection from others can actually foster depth and perspective, and in my case it has. Now, I am sixty-two, long past childhood. I have accepted that I will never be a popular person. But that's okay. I have friends and I have had to learn to be patient and forgiving in order to keep my friends. I have had to uproot the kind of toxic self-pity that thwarts and cripples the growth of people who have been bullied and ostracised. In my work with people living with mental illness I have really had to look beyond my own pain and get over my neediness. Everybody hurts. And we are all incredibly fragile. I still spend a lot of time in solitude. I have come to enjoy it and often to even prefer it. It isn't just that it's safe, which it is. But it allows my mind, my imagination, my entire soul, free rein, and I can go places in my mind, in my feelings, my insights and perceptions, that just don't really get mapped out from me when I'm around other people. But there are exceptions. And in my visits with friends there are always things that come out in the conversations that teach me something. It completes the circle. Life isn't really safe for anyone and we need to reckon with this at an early age. We also need to become for one another a safe place and this is what I try to cultivate in my contacts with others. It doesn't mean that I'm always going to be safe, but there is something about reaching out in love and care to others that makes our own journey somehow easier and less threatening. Even in our alone times, our solitude, we are giving to others, but we have to get out of the swamp of self-pity. It will only strangle us. It is also completely opposed to love and if we are busy feeling sorry for ourselves then we are far less likely to reach out to others, and it is the reaching out that helps build and foster community.