The Introvert's Party

I love new experiences, in fact, I have spent a significant part of my adulthood moving around the country because I thrive on new spaces.  So it's not that I shrink from the strange and unusual, I'd just rather stand back and observe the dance than jump right in.  I can do the occasional loud party or foray into forced socialization but not without my trusty arsenal of supplies:

My Introvert's Toolbox

1. A journal:  We're starting with an obvious one here.  I had about five different journals as a kid that all had sporadic accounts of my adolescent adventures.  I still write in one from time to time but I am never ever without a notebook with me for ideas, for lists, or just to vent a bit to something that will never turn around and blab my secrets to the highest bidder (essential when you live in a small community).  Also, it's healthy and cathartic and I've worked out many a problem on paper.
2. A healthy dose of delusion: I call it a healthy imagination, but I suppose the truth is that mine is kind of delusion.  Sometimes, I get through awful situations by playing out a story in my mind.  I'm not an awkward wallflower at this work dinner, but the Lady of the estate upon which they are all trespassing.  Thankfully, I am magnanimous, but unwilling to socialize with a lower class.  Okay, so it's not usually that obnoxious but something fun, that makes me laugh to myself.  But when I'm in museums, I do pretend that I am exceedingly wealthy and that I own the whole place and others have come at my invitation (should they make obscene comments, they will be quickly dismissed!)
3. A hat: I should also note, sunglasses, because let's be honest, there is nothing like blocking out the world with a good baseball cap.  I can sit at a bus stop and pretend like nothing exists but the back of my hand or hide my face from an old acquaintance in the grocery store.  I think a good hat also states quite plainly: "No small talk, please."  Or maybe it says, "Bad haircut, but don't you love this shade of lipstick?"
4. An arsenal of quotes/stand by questions:  We are classically bad at small talk.  Some introverts are actually good at it, but we don't usually enjoy it.  Deep conversation about the state of the human soul, that is what we crave but the average Joe co-worker or Starbucks barista isn't exactly keen on discussing East of Eden between your americano and that flirty girl's skinny caramel frappuccino, so I get by with classic questions, most of which have crashed and burned since college (so easy, where are you from?  what's your major? why communication? No seriously, why communication--don't you want a job someday?).  But then when the questions are turned and my life is on display and it's only polite to have some kind of response, mostly I bumble through a string of words that sounded better in my head.  I mean, 'Steinbeck, wow' isn't quite as poetic as a well placed quote, not to mention the fact that it would be a thoughtfully formed sentence instead of whatever garbage I usually expel.
5. Good walking shoes: I drool over Louboutins just as much as the next girl but when it comes to shelling out hard earned cash for shoes, I am a creature of comfort.  I buy boots and ballet flats and oxfords and cute sneakers.  I tell my husband it's because I want to be ready for anything (if you can run from an armed marauder in stiletto, kudos to you but I think any action flick will show you how dumb you look trying).  Truth is, I love to walk.  I do.  I get my best ideas walking my dog.  I love gazing into storefronts, catching bits of conversation, imagining my characters in the people on the street. When that party gets overwhelming, you can just walk your pretty little feet out of there.  You can jump over fences and weave through a crowd or run from that acquaintance who now caught your eye in the cereal eye despite your lowered hat brim. 
6. Music, lots of it:  I rely on music to transition my mood, focus my mind, or provide me with some kind of escape.  It plays on in my mind through the sirens, through the neighbors yelling, through the embarrassingly stunted vocabulary of the American teenager in the mall.  Not to mention, it's always a point of connection with others.  As with books, I connect strongly with people on the point of music and gives us something to talk about. 
7. A quick smile:  People might kindly put that I seem pensive, but I'm quite sure the vibe they're trying to describe when I rush through, trapped in my own world and not wanting liberation, is bitchy.  I'm always a little worried that I come off as uppity and withholding, which in a lot of cases, I am.  A snob in many ways am I, but I try to temper my lack of communication with a smile.  Use it.  Use it often.  Except with that guy in the car who's been trying to catch your attention with his exaggerated hair flips.  Ignore him.
8. Extroverted heroes/heroines:  'People who speak their mind' seems to be an underlying characteristic in the people whom I admire.  That and people who can really tell a story in front of others.  I always seem to jumble the order of events or fixate on unnecessary details and wonder why I started telling the story and then putter to some kind of close.  But hark!  There are people like that in the world already, who say the things I think and who share my beliefs and evangelize to the world, and I look at them and I'm thankful that they are the public persona of my private thoughts.  I also have a million introverted heroes but that goes without saying.
9. A handful of understanding friends:  Real or imaginary, I don't care.  People who understand that when you say no to drinks or a movie, it's nothing personal.  Even if you've already said no five times prior.  Friends who don't surprise you by changing your intimate dinner date to a banquet hall party.  Friends who get that sometimes you might disappear for a while and know that you'll come back after that writing session/music practice/alone time in the dark room.  
10. A dog:  The ultimate introvert friend.  My dog isn't a people person, in fact she downright hates the men she meets (I'm sure psychologists would tell my that my perception of my dog mirrors something of my own personality), but that dog loves me like nothing in this world.  My husband loves me, so do my friends and family, but that dog just can't get enough of me.  When all the world has exhausted my ability to hope in goodness and love, there she is right at my side as the silent exception.  No words, no expectations.  When I write, I am comforted by the change in room tone made by her quiet breathing.  Even in my needed alone time, I am never lonely and she plays a big role in that.

Do you find this to be true?  Is my healthy imagination turning more McDelusion these days?

What's in your toolbox?  I am always curious for suggestions.