Some people feel energized when surrounded by others. Growing up as my brother's advocate, companion, and interpreter of sorts, I got used to being around people, but often felt tired and frustrated by social interactions.
I recently learned that an extrovert is the kind of person who feels refreshed by the company of others, while an introvert seeks solitude and feels exhausted by the company of others. I wonder how many people living with depression are actually introverts living in a society that rewards extroverted behavior?
As a child, I was fortunate to have spent many hours walking in the woods behind our house in Edmonton, Alberta. Today I wrote a little about my memories of elementary school.
After School
After school, I walk home with my friend who wears her hair in two long braids down her back. We chat about the day, stop to sniff a freshly painted fence, throw some pebbles into the gutter to watch where they will land. When I get home, I let myself in through the front door, which is kept unlocked 24/7.
The sound of a child playing the violin confirms that my mother is teaching as usual. Stepping into the kitchen, I read the note she has left for me. "Today's snack: one cookie and one glass of milk each. Fold the clean laundry and put it away. We will have noodles for supper."
There is a picture of shirts being folded into piles, a cookie, and a smiling face waving a hand. The pictures are for my brother's benefit, as he cannot read yet.
Poking my head around the wall in our 70s style living room, I beckon to my brother sitting on the sofa listening to the violin lesson. "Come on, let's have our snack."
Whispering to each other quietly, we eat our cookie, then I lead him by the hand to the laundry room. We remove the clothes from the dryer. Too bad they are already cold. Piling them into the laundry basket, we head upstairs. "Your room or mine? You choose," I offer magnanimously.
He hesitates. "Can we listen to my tape?"
I sigh inwardly. "Okay. Let's go to your room."
After folding the laundry into neat piles, we deliver each bundle to the appropriate room. Parents' room, my room, brother's room, hall closet, kitchen cupboard, bathroom.
Now my chores are done. Closing the door gently as my brother continues to sing along to his beloved tape of The Sound of Music, I am free to ramble in the woods behind our house. This is the place where I feel most myself. I walk along the dirt road, kicking pebbles, looking for small pieces of petrified wood, which I once found in this back alley.
I choose one of the narrow trails worn smooth in the grass, winding amid the trees and suddenly opening into a vast field of knee-high grasses and smooth mounds of dirt looming higher than my head. This is the dirt bike realm, the place where boys come to race up the hills on brightly colored bikes with thick bumpy tires, practicing their wheelies and other tricks, landing in clouds of hay and dust with triumphant yelps.
Making myself as small as possible, I pass through the open field and reach my destination: the tree-lined path where I can meander for the next hour. This is my solitary space, my sanctuary, the quiet spot where I can think and speak aloud without fearing that anyone will overhear.
I pretend that I have a best friend, inventing dialogue between her and me. I relish walking without seeing anyone else, only brushing past a stray dog and a couple of birds.
This was the place where my eight-year-old self felt reenergized. Soothing the bruises of the day, I looked up into the branches of the trees, listening to the wind whispering to them, and knew that everything would be okay, eventually.
That tree-lined trail is the place I need to keep finding whenever I feel off-kilter. Not so easy in busy New York City, but not impossible. Taking day trips helps. Hence I once made a mandala out of seashells gathered on a beach about two hours' travel from the city. I treasure this memory and return there mentally whenever I need some quiet and rest.
