Sorry I'm Late, I Didn't Want to Come: One Introvert's Year of Saying Yes

by Jessica Pan

Nearly everything in adulthood is goal oriented: increase productivity, function on less sleep, make more money, run faster, cycle farther. Fifteen-minute meals. Seven-minute workouts. Even meditating is less “path to enlightenment” and more “how meditating can help you smash your workday!” That’s because as soon as you enter the real world, playtime is over. Kaput. Done. There are no more outlets for sheer whimsy. We’re just expected to be finished with it. Forever. Or be satisfied with getting scraps of it from Twitter memes, Beyoncé dance classes, and pets’ Halloween costumes (introvert whimsy). Which explains, in part, why the music festivals I avoid are so wildly popular: it’s the only socially acceptable time for grown men and women to wear tails, frolic in capes, and cover themselves in glitter and face paint like it’s a seven-year-old’s birthday party (extrovert whimsy).