An uneasy solitude for introverts

When you arise in the morning, think of what a precious privilege it is to be alive - to breathe, to think, to enjoy, to love. - Marcus Aurelius

THERE are memes that celebrate the Great Lockdown as a small win for the introverts. "I've been preparing for this moment my whole life," so the deadpan quotes go.

But homebodies are also redefining solitude in the time of a global pandemic.

Writer Fran Lebowitz, described in The New Yorker this week as "the patron saint of staying at home and doing nothing", turned pensive when talking to the magazine about the still emptiness of the once buzzing New York City, where she lives.

"After Sept 11, I was on the street 24 hours a day, and I was riveted by the things I saw. I'm not talking about being down by the World Trade Center; all over town, there was stuff you never would have imagined seeing," she told the reporter over the phone.

"But now it's just sad. On the one hand, you're happy you don't have a million people slamming into you while they're looking at their phones. On the other hand, it's like a meadow without the good features of a meadow. Meadows - not my favourite thing. There are no restaurants in a meadow. But there are flowers, there are trees. This is like a meadow with no trees."

Now, that swollen emptiness from a formerly vibrant canvas of a modern city is stifling, even if you have always been comfortable with silence.

You see, those who have always been more coolly attuned to the quiet distance of modern life in the pre-virus days, found spaces of solitude between the clang and clamour.

We lived like Edward Hopper paintings, coming to terms with our aloneness. We were at pensive peace with the morning sun greeting us through a window, blazing without a word.

But that was also because we were trained to expect human interaction as part of the urbanscape. The modern city polluted by night lights, the cars kicking to life, the engines of enterprise turning.

And finding silence amid that modern-city soundtrack magnified the relief from solitude. There was a sense of ownership behind reclaiming the moments of silence, of emancipation from social buzz.

Now, we no longer get to decide - and that is limiting.

And while introverts tarry well in being alone, we feel the same hollow isolation when we hear the thundering crack of a baseball bat knocking into a ball to empty echoes in stands, or goals being scored in silent football stadiums.

There is a social white noise that does not belong - and its purr is incessant.

Meanwhile, working from home has meant stacked conference calls that very swiftly drain the daily quota on human interaction.

At work, we could dodge into toilets, pantries and behind walls to avoid socialising.

Now, there are scheduled meetings and team calls put on calendars that are shared openly on cloud services. It is a game of endless Tetris as formerly acceptable breaks - like lunch - are tile-matched into some coherence.

The chatter is designated, deliberate and inescapable. We cannot dictate the levels of our social-interaction decibels, even while seemingly left alone.

I cannot speak too much on behalf of extroverts. Part of the reason is they tend to speak for themselves - and then some.

Indeed, a few I know are already driven desperate by safe distancing measures here and around the world.

But some have channelled that social energy into tending to their children at home - and that alone makes them long very easily for quiet time when the day comes to an end.

And as I see one contributing writer in The New York Times saying that she, as a self-dubbed extrovert, wished to be "jostling against other bodies for a prime piece of sidewalk at a parade", I realised that she, too, is merely seeking to reclaim herself (albeit oddly, in my view). I suppose for her, to make room in jammed spaces gives her a sense of footing and belonging in a crowd of her choice.

Whether an introvert or an extrovert, it is the desire to experience life on our terms that binds us.

The virus outbreak - which has infected two million patients around the world and claimed some 140,000 deaths - weighs on society.

Out of a seemingly desperate time, we honour the hope that is behind a chance to heal and mend; and to celebrate a social life of our choosing - whether on a big bang, or nestled in a stoic hush.

While waiting, we sketch the new boundaries in this modern life of our confines, finding small comforts that come like the end of a silent scream.