Introvert Island

I believe that one of the most valuable gifts you can give yourself is time.
Taking time to be more fully present.
Your journey to become more inspired and more connected to the deeper world around us starts now. 

Oprah 

There is a place that feels soft and safe, like the cozy hand made quilt stitched together by my grandmother’s artfully skilled hands, gifted to me as a young girl.  A deserted island I retreat to when the world gets too loud, its heartbeat pulsing at a dangerous level of tachycardia. I collapse here when the life that I have curated with goals and people pleasing drowns me in a swirling riptide of expectation. When I need to cut the ankle cord on the chaos before its weight pulls me under.

A private secluded paradise. Introvert Island.

A vacation destination where the only other inhabitants have soft fur and cold noses that they nuzzle into me, the perfect antidote for my frayed edges. Where soundscape is occupied by the rhythmic snoring baseline of an aging canine, mixed with moody jazz tones singing soft words of self reflection. Where the dress code calls for the forgiving comfort of sweat pants and broken in t-shirts. Where there is unlimited freedom to let go and embrace the imperfect perfection of simply being me. Where time isn’t a race, but rather a melodic tick-tock vibrato, lulling me into a meditative state of  re-connection.

This island is surrounded by the sea.

Its waves are vibrant and bold like a full-bodied glass of red wine. They pulse on the electricity of laughter and conversation of my quirky girl tribe. They beat with the calamity of city sounds, and music that makes my soul sing out loud. They drip with the adrenaline infused sweat that rolls down my face as I sprint and jump, pushing my body to new physical limits.  They quicken my high heeled step as I run after the excitement of the city life, of late nights with loved ones accented by the percussion of clinking glasses and restaurant silverware.

Like a surfer I ride these ocean waves, feeling invisible, happy, unstoppable. Their vigor fills my wine glass, more, more, and then more, until the purple, fragrant liquid spills over, my overestimated burst of extroversion making a mess on the clean, white counter top.

There is always a tipping point. When one big wave hits, puling me under, forcing me to gasp for air.

I should have known it was island time.

I wonder if I’ll ever learn to stop pouring before its too late.

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