Recently, I found myself in the uneventful circumstance of spending Saturday night in the bathtub, scrolling through Facebook to watch those 30-second cooking videos. Meanwhile, my best friend, boyfriend and every other student in my college town were packed into the newest bar, socializing and taking shots until 2 a.m. Had it been earlier in my college career, I would have nursed an uncomfortable pit in my stomach, while dealing with the internal turmoil of missing out. I would have enviously liked Instagram posts and wondered about the shenanigans with my friends that shoulda, coulda, woulda been.
As a lifelong extrovert, the first years of undergraduate studies only served to encourage my partying. I tried my hardest to show my face at every fraternity party with a theme, whether it be stoplight, luau or masquerade.
Every week, I filled my photo library with late-night pictures of acquaintances and myself. I tried my hardest to get to know every new sorority girl through random conversations at the bar. I stocked up on crazy stories to tell my old friends from high school during breaks.
Then, it all kind of came to a stop. During the day, I was exerting myself to the limit— attending meetings for extracurriculars, watching intramural games, dragging myself to class after class after class. It was enough of an effort to clean my house and shower. Suddenly, my evenings were spent in the library until closing time.
On my free nights, I was sending excuses to my sorority sisters as to why I wouldn't be at the party of the night— "I'm really not feeling well." "I pulled an all-nighter and could pass out standing up." "I've got way too much homework."
Instead, I relished the opportunity to lay in bed with my boyfriend and catch up on our Netflix queue or drink wine with my best friend and catch up on our Netflix queue.
When I did go out, eight out of 10 times were spent standing with a group, taking pictures, checking my phone and wondering why I was there in the first place. All of that wasted effort for a night of adequacy? Not worth it. The appeal that constant extroversion used to have just didn't hold the same enticing effect anymore.
The best and worst part? I didn't feel that internal guilt. I spent so much time around others in the daytime that, by sunset, no one could convince me to leave the cozy confines of my blankets.
Even more than that, I didn't feel obligated to give up my nights to strangers when I could spend them with a few companions. I worked and stressed so hard from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. that I just wanted to seize the night. . . and, by that, I meant, live it for me.
That leads up to now— and, honestly, being an introvert makes me happier.
I feel like I've outgrown the partying years and, while I look back on them with fondness and smiles, I wouldn't change how I feel. I'm one year away from graduation and I absolutely adore every moment that I get to spend by myself or with my loved ones. That's okay. You can't live your entire life at bars, parties and events (if you're a fifth-year senior and still chugging beers every night, then do you, though! Honestly, whatever makes you happy).
Does that mean that I don't enjoy a night of drinking games with my family? Does that mean that I can't be persuaded by my close friends to join them for margaritas and dancing? Does that mean that I don't go with my boyfriend and his fraternity brothers to music festivals? Does that mean that I won't go to the biggest parties of the year and have fun at them? Does that mean that I won't tailgate from morning to evening? Does that mean that I gave up the lifestyle forever? Absolutely not.
A natural extrovert doesn't change all of her stripes. Embracing your introverted side in college can be a great thing, though, and enhance your overall quality of life exponentially.
