The house is thick with silence as I sit on my bed and think. This rare moment of comfort is brought to me by a son’s work party, another’s dinner invitation, a youth group gift exchange, a husband spending quality time out with the youngest, and animals whose bellies are full.
The pink candle glowed with the others as we ate chicken noodle soup and cream-cheese crackers sprinkled with mini pepperonis. A gift-box on the felt tree reminded of the gifts that we give and receive. It symbolized the greatest gift.
Those around the table joked of Santa and presents and the meaning of the colors pink and purple in those contexts. The TRUE meaning of Christmas. Wits were quick and laughter quicker and for some moments there was joy, deep and rich and full and secure. Brief. Fleeting.
Hours have passed since I first sat down to write. The rare, thick, quiet comfort vanished within minutes by a knock at the door, the bark of a dog, the return of people. Activity resumed. Cookies appeared.
For an introvert who feels deep joy in silence, it is challenging to have constant engagement crashing the space. I love all of the people, the other introverts and extroverts who live in this house with me, and we all struggle. For some the exuberance is too much. For others the quiet is too much.
For me it is all too much.
Wherever we land on the socialization spectrum, there is too much, too many. I joke that each of us would have made a great only child. Yet here we are. Together. Trying to figure out life. Braving the season of joy. Feeding off of one another when the groove is right, crashing and burning into each other when we are off.
My room attracts everyone like a magnet. They gather around as I try to wrap up my rambling words into some sort of cohesive point on joy that seems to be slipping further and further from my thoughts. There’s a video to watch and a dog to hold and a younger sister annoying an older one. I know now that the feeling rising inside of me is a warning, and it is not of impending joy.
Using my voice to ask for what I need, I request a few more bits of quiet to wrap up this writing before tucking everyone in for the night. They graciously adjourn to the dining room, where I hear laughter that threatens to turn.
And I sit. Grateful for the gift of a place to ponder and feel what it means to experience comfort while waiting for the joy that is here.