handstories

company

    The children were all following along in their chapter books as their teacher read aloud to them.  I wandered the room, keeping an eye on those who needed "help" in focussing.  There's a quiet boy, he can be quite grumpy at times, and there's often a grumbling muttering happening in his corner, but he's a fine enough student, so he rarely needs my attention.  So, I was surprised, when he quietly said my name from across the room.  

    I went over, "Yes?  Do you need something?"

    "Uh, . . . I don't know . . . I guess not."  I was going to walk away, but had a feeling, and pulled up a chair next to him and began reading over his shoulder.  He turned, leaned in and held the book between us.

    Sometimes you just don't want to be alone, even us introverts.

a yarn of kindred spirits (London one)

    Last month, when I asked if any of you might have suggestions of places to visit while in London, there was a wonder.  A wondering if anyone in the London area might read this blog?  And if so, a wondering if they might want to meet?  

    And then (this is really truly true), I thought of Blandina in Italy.  She has stopped blogging, but I'm always so happy to see her name pop up in the comments.  I had a flicker of a thought, "I wonder if I ever go to Italy again, if I might meet her?"  

    And then (this is really truly true), she emailed.  (Thank you, Nancy, for connecting us)  She is currently living in London.  Would I like to meet?

    And then, there were a few emails (& some deep breathing for my inner introvert) and an exchange of photos . . . On the last day of our trip, the guys went off to a soccer football game, and I headed out to meet her at Loop Knitting Shop.

    After traipsing up and down Camden Passage a couple of times trying to find the shop, and finally asking a woman coming out of a door (who informed me it was two doors down), there it was, and there was the beautiful Blandina!  We had such a lovely afternoon-in the yarn shop, browsing through the passage, an art store, walking arm and arm under her umbrella, and finally sitting for tea and cake.  All the while talking and talking . . . of knitting, painting, art, London, Italy, children, parenting, . . . the few hours flew by.  My spirit was brightened by our connection.

    The next day, on the flight home, I cast on a sock with the yarn from Loop.  They will be a favorite souvenir of London and of the wonderful afternoon with a dear new friend.

self-talk

    Actually, there's very little talking going on . . . just going.

    Sometimes it feels like a party in my head.  Which is probably part of being an introvert.  

in search of kilter

    Liking the places where the threads are interacting with each other.

    And there are spots where some balance is happening.

    Still working to find the harmony amongst these moments.

    There's nothing new about that quest- ha!

on being an introvert

    Sometimes I feel like I just hate people.  But I don’t.  I just don’t understand how to be with most of them, especially when they are in groups.

    I decided to try a meeting of a local sewing group.  The therapist was pleased. My outgoing dearest friend was glad.  They were both encouraged and encouraging that I was stepping out of my comfort zone.  (It had only taken years since I’d first heard about the group.)

    I went and sat in the back row of more than fifty people.  They seemed like a happy and friendly group with each other.  The meeting began.  I stood up to be introduced with a few other visitors.  I noticed that I was the only visitor that had not come with a member.  It was pretty clear from the get-go that it wasn’t my kind of stitching, but still, maybe there would be connection over the joy of being with cloth.

    And then came the break.  Small groups gathered to snack, mingle, share.  I sat there in the back row, between empty chairs.  I looked down, saw that my arms and legs were crossed.  Not an open friendly body language pose.  I rearranged.  I smiled.  Maybe it looked like I was going to throw up, but I was trying to smile.  I sat there trying to think of how to open a conversation.  Would “Hi, I’m an introvert, please help me.” work?

    After fifteen minutes, nothing.  I stood up and moved near a group.  Nothing.  I went back to my chair.  Five more minutes.  Maybe coming uninvited, without a member was taboo?  Maybe there was a secret handshake or password I was missing?

    The usual self-talk began . . .

    “What’s the matter with you?”

    “I want to leave.” 

    “You can’t leave, that would be rude.  You will hurt their feelings.  What will people think?  There is only an hour to go.  This break will end, all you have to do is sit here and watch and listen. You’re not going to die from this.  Buck up!”

    And then I did something new.  I talked back.

    “THEY are being rude.  MY feelings are hurt.  They are NOT thinking about me.  This is NOT working for me.  I will never see them again.  (And if I do, they clearly won't be talking to me.)  These are NOT my people.  I do NOT need to do this for one more minute, let alone another hour, and I CAN leave.” 

    And I did.  And I said mostly kind things to myself all the way home.

    It was not a social break-through, but it was a small personal one.

    Hello, I am an introvert, and I am learning to take care of me, nice to meet you.

    And here is the best ever post on “How to flourish as an introvert” by grrl+dog.  (and I think I need to knit myself one of those things in the first photo.)