On Being (Ab)Normal

"Sometimes I wish I was normal...but then I'd actually have to BE normal...and that would never do."

I posted that as a Facebook status update this afternoon. I'd just walked from Lola Savannah Coffee Lounge to The Grove Wine Bar and Restaurant to use the restroom. It's not like it was a long trip - the two establishments are actually two halves of one whole and are linked by a long bar with an excellent view of the Texas Hill Country. Several couples were enjoying a late lunch and bottle of wine at the bar. And seemingly enjoying each other's company while wiling away the afternoon. I was making my way through as quickly as I could. I needed to get back to work.

Or so I tell myself. Because let's be honest, I rarely get a Saturday off and I could have done something different - met up with friends, done a little day-drinking, maybe caught a movie, talked a friend into taking her boat out. I didn't need to work to get work done; everything I did today could have waited until next week. I worked today because I had absolutely no idea what to do with myself except work. I spent three hours early this afternoon working on the final edit of my third novel. And now, because yet again, I can't think of anything else to do, I'm spending the later part of the afternoon writing this.

I talk a good game about wanting to be normal. What would it be like to enjoy the company of a friend (or more than a friend) while debating whether to finish a bottle of wine on a Saturday afternoon? I have to admit the mere idea makes me a bit nauseous. Sure, I don't like wine but truthfully we could substitute margarita or mojito into that same sentence and I'd still feel over-matched and light-headed. I'd still feel abnormal and introverted and weird.

It's true I wear my introversion like a cloak, wield it like an talisman. I use it to my advantage. Well, to the advantage of my sanity. Work - writing, editing, researching, all outside of my full time job - insulates me from the world, from normal. I do love to work - I love seeing the results of my efforts in tangible form, I love it when friends like what I've written - but... There's been a "but" for awhile now. It's all I do. I work, workout, eat, maybe do a load of laundry, take my dogs out to potty, sleep. And now that I've given up TV for the month of June, I can't even pass the time mindlessly binging on Netflix.

I am nothing if not a creature of habit. Work is a habit. And sadly I've done so much of it over the past several years (We can probably go back as far as 2012 when I started graduate school) that I have no idea how to do anything else. Add in that I really despise wasting time. And that I have no ability to relax. Zero. Hell, I can't even take a restful vacation. I still run and work and work some more. Regardless where I am in the world.

I am well aware that this is not normal. Not even close. Sure, I'm about to publish my third novel and today I added "Finish fourth novel" (It's about 80% in the can) to my to-do list, so I'm nothing if not productive. Work makes things happen, but at what cost? If only I could straddle the fence between normal and abnormal, between working too much and working too little... I just don't know what that would look like. I foresee that I'd have to set aside some of my introversion which could potentially jeopardizing my sanity.

So my sanity comes from being abnormal. This is not good news and it doesn't get me any closer to a leisurely Saturday afternoon bottle of wine (or mojito - just go with it). It means that I'm writing this. Surely, we can argue its (non) value as a piece of writing but everyone will acknowledge that it's my way of hiding, not being seen, of passing time that I have no idea how to pass.

Maybe one day I'll get lonely enough to step outside of myself and invite connection? I wouldn't encourage anyone to hold their breath on that one. I had a conversation with a friend this afternoon who has been struggling with loneliness and being alone. She craves, needs, desires connection, constantly. She is my polar opposite. I cannot recall the last time I was lonely (I think it might have been in the summer of 2014 after an exceedingly crappy breakup, maybe). Sometimes, like this afternoon, I get a little wistful and wish I could be more normal, but none of that is motivated by loneliness. I'm getting to the point where, even though my sanity and strength comes directly from my ability to be alone, I actually wish I'd get a little lonely. That I'd actually want, crave, desire connection. I've come close - I've felt it whisper past me - but then I realize it just wouldn't work.

And I go back to work. When I'm working I have loads of company to occupy my mind, thoughts, and attention. Ok, they're all fictional and we have coffee and a muffin in the coffee lounge rather than bruschetta and wine at the bar. Sometimes I use my voice so little I'm not sure what will come out of my mouth when I finally do need to speak (Vacations are notorious for this because I don't even have my dogs to speak to). Sometimes I feel awkward in social situations I've never felt awkward in before. That's when I start to think that maybe I've drifted too far from normal and need to make more of an effort.

Of course then I get light-headed and nauseous. Because what would that look like, feel like? Normal? Oy. So I pull out my talisman, talk to an imaginary friend (Jesus, a character in one of my stories. Please don't panic), and get a coffee refill. Still, I'd love to find a balance one day. Better stated, I love to find something worth finding a balance for. Right now, though, until that day comes, I'll work. And then I'll work some more.

After all, I need to edit and post this and I probably should update my website (www.staceeannharris.com) or design next week's social media ad. Busy, busy, my friends, busy, busy.