Introverts Part 3: Gas in the Tank
mixed metaphors
Welcome to Gangletown, where each week, you’ll receive original writing by David Kimple. If that is good for your vybe and you’d like access to everything gangletown has to offer, check out subscription options here.
This is a continuation of “Introverts Part 1: Definitions.” & “Introverts Part 2: Housing.”
After moving out of my studio apartment and in with Blaine and his three other roommates (yes! totaling 5 people, 4 bedrooms, and 1 bathroom), I struggled. Not only was I living with roommates again, but I was also now sharing a bed, closet, and food budget with someone. I went from being alone for a majority of each day, to being almost never alone, and had to learn how to regenerate all over again just to survive day-to-day.
At the time, I was also in a phase of life where I was firing on all cylinders with work and creativity. In that same summer, my friend Catie and I decided to start a production company, run a crowdfunding campaign to make it happen, learn how to actually be producers, then produce two shows. We also planned to create a narrative film (for the record, though we haven’t done it so far, I haven’t given up on that idea). I’d go from my day job to work sessions, or rehearsals, and production meetings. The whole situation was very scrappy-NYC-theatre-artist in their twenties and it felt pure and good. Well…except when I was still working at the restaurant on the weekends. Because though I had a full-time job, I wasn’t making enough there to actually survive on. Yeah, I know. It’s a bummer, but it’s the reality. Lots of people in this world seem to believe that Americans should be willing and grateful to work two or three jobs just to survive. Good times! Right?
Working-class pay rates aside, when I look back on that time, I can barely conceive of being able to do all of that. Like, that is insane. Was I insane? Maybe. But also. It sort of makes sense. I’d just spend eight months living alone in that studio, stocking up on energy in all of my introvert glory. My tank was full. So full, in fact, that for about six months straight, I was able to put my foot onto the gas and go, go, go!
After the second show closed, though, I went into a complete creative drought. I stopped writing, I had no energy to produce, and I felt vacant. I wasn’t in a depression, as I can sometimes be found, but, rather, simply blank. I’d find myself sitting on our big red couch with our roommate Monica, drinking a glass of red from a box (of course) and staring at the walls. Or watching Friends. Or watching Grey’s Anatomy. Basically, doing anything that felt comfortable, simple, and mindless. I had next-to-no ability to do anything outside of the bare minimum.
With such massive changes in my life that year, all of the fuel I had accumulated before moving in with Blaine was used up. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. If I am the car in this metaphor, then I want to be driven. That’s what the car is for! It is filled with gas, the gas is used, and we go from “A to B”. The problem, though, is that I didn’t take any time along the way to top up. I ran the tank all the way to empty, and when the engine stalled, I was nowhere near a gas station (read: living with four other people). So, instead of bouncing back quickly, I had to push the car for miles just to find a gas station.
Is this whole car thing even working? It makes sense to me, so I hope so. Either way, I’m betting that you get the idea. I was exhausted. Because of that exhaustion, I don’t think I actually wrote another full-length play for over a year.
Lately, I’ve been getting pretty down on myself for not being able to create more. In fact, even finishing Part 3 of this piece has been more of a labor than a flow. Nothing about finishing the narrative has been easy. I don’t like to admit that because shame, and pride, and stuff, but that’s the truth. If you’ve read my other stuff, you can probably tell.
I think my tank is empty again. Or, at the very least, it’s almost empty. I’ve had some fumes to run on, but that’s about it. My birthday a few weeks ago woke me up to this. Something about the chapter changing helped to reveal a few of the objective realities of where I am at in life, and I realized just how gassed-out I really have been.
With that recognition came a little confusion. I’ve spent the best part of the last year and a half in my apartment with Blaine, and mostly alone in the bedroom while working. So, based on all I’ve said before, I should be ready to fuckin’ jive with introvert energy. Right? I mean, I’ve barely seen anyone! Right?
And yet…
When I zoom out, it’s easy to see how many other elements are at play these days. The world we live in is full of noise, full of people, full of exhausting energy at every corner. We’re never really “alone” anymore, even when we’re alone. So, how and when my energy is recharged is a complicated and nuanced science, and I was never good at science.
The only thing I can say for certain is that there are times when I am charged up, and times when I am running on empty. Lately, it’s been empty.
So, I’m taking some really specific steps to refill the tank.
I hope you’ll be able to see the difference soon.
If you love what’s happening here, will you consider sharing this week’s gangletown (or another piece from the archives) directly with one person? It is the best way to help as gangletown grows. You can also follow & Tag me on social media @DKimps.
