Day #7 Writing Through Covid-19: Isolated Extroverts or How Reading Will Save You

I am extroverted. I am too friendly, too out-spoken, too sure that everyone wants to know my every opinion.

But I also have an introverted dimension. I love to hole up on the weekends, putter from chair to couch, read a book, then a magazine, then a newspaper--without having to talk to anyone.

I do not dread the isolation of Covid-19. True, Dan is here, and we have children who check in daily. I have students I'm prodding with writing prompts and poems. I have friends in various crevices of my life. I have the best sister in the world, and we sometimes talk five times a day. So my aloneness is not being tested that much.

If you've read my past few posts, you know that my 89- and 90-year-old parents have moved into my basement. Both of these people led extroverted lives. They joined committees, served on school boards, led countless initiatives.

But they also were voracious readers and writers. They knew how to sink into themselves, their private sanctums, and I'm seeing the benefit of that now.

In the past, I may have felt dismissed when, after a Thanksgiving meal, my dad would find a chair and a book and excuse himself from all family interaction for a few hours. I also absorbed deep pain when my mom told me she wouldn't be able to visit my newborn twins because she was busy with her own plans.

My mother works on our puzzle while my dad reads.

But this past week, as my parents and I are choreographing our dance of support and independence, I am grateful they are introverted extroverts, or extroverted introverts.

They lived in the thick of the nursing home's activities, organizing the duplicate bridge tournaments and reading to residents with limited sight. My dad loved his Saturday morning men's coffee time. As of last summer, my mother still rode her bike and scoured the grounds to pick up litter on long walks. Their vibrancy has been good for both them and the people around them.

But today I'm happy they have strong interior lives as well. My mother has filled countless spiral notebooks with journaling for years. Twice yesterday I found her writing when I came downstairs. My father reads and reads.

They are cheerful and conversational when I visit throughout the day, but I know as long as they are surrounded with reading material and lined notebooks, they'll be fine for a few hours on their own.

Reading and writing for the win.

Enough.
Stay well.
Write.

Allison