The Social Whirl, Again

I suppose it was some time in my mid-twenties that I realised I was basically an introvert. I'm using the term here in its Jungian sense, not as identifying some defect of personality but as a way of expressing an essential orientation of the self inwards (sometimes in a dubiously self-concerned manner, I'm afraid.) The fact that I'd always enjoyed the company of others and never gone short of friends in my formative years had, to some degree, blinded me to my ready acceptance of solitude and all that that implied. But the passage of years made it more and more clear that the journey inwards was going to be where the real action was for me. In turn came the realisation that I needed to strive for balance in terms of looking outward, but I generally found the rough and tumble of my work more than adequate for my needs in that direction.

I've now reached the point at which I find it difficult to connect with a much younger version of myself who seemed to long for as much company as possible most nights of the week. To find the space simply to read what I want to is sufficient joy to fulfil all my social needs. Of course, to be blessed with the perfect companion with whom to share the mercy of days is no small help in all this.

Yet the last three days have involved non-stop encounters of the human kind in a most satisfactory manner - heavily featuring quite a number with my drama guys in the course of our annual camp; and then with various guests joining us for a day of Raya-ing - such that I've found myself quite forgetful of the self who'd normally find all this a touch overwhelming. Life in the old dog yet?