An Introvert Travels for Work
Last summer, I was turned down for a job that would have let me travel several times a year. The job was with a former employer, where I knew most of the people and knew basically what to expect from the line of work, which was producing corporate events. I got to attend just one of those events in my prior role, since I worked in behind-the-scenes technology. The new role I interviewed for was more client-facing. For many reasons, I’m glad I didn’t get the job, but I’m slightly disappointed at the loss of travel opportunities.
My new job, the one I got instead with a state agency, is mainly a back-office role. I split my time between a home office and a cubicle at agency headquarters. This week was a rare exception, when I was allowed to travel to Utah for an industry conference. That’s four mornings of not having to coax a child out of bed and into weather-appropriate clothes for school. Three evenings of adult conversation and/or no conversation. (I often prefer the latter.) Three nights of climbing into a large bed with clean sheets that I didn’t have to wash. Four days of walking the streets of a city I’d never been to and admiring a backdrop of a mountain range I’d never had the pleasure of seeing before. My nose did not itch with the irritation of pollen, as it’s doing now that I am back home in the Willamette Valley. The air felt crisp and dry.
It was a week of eating surprisingly good food and getting to know some delightful colleagues. As an introvert, I didn’t go out on a limb to meet folks, but was shepherded around by my fellow agency workers. I was grateful for that; I’m not as shy as I used to be, but I still haven’t developed a talent for mingling. Generally I’ll crack a few jokes, ask new acquaintances questions about themselves, and let them talk. If they start asking much about me, I nervously look down and give quippy answers where I can. My most uncomfortable moment at the conference was when an acquaintance from another state sat next to me at lunch and, with too much enthusiasm, asked me open-endedly to tell her about myself. I appeased her with a picture of my son and my dog, and then, thankfully, a panel discussion started and drew our attention away. I wasn’t prepared with enough sound bites about my life. I’d had a much better time at dinner the night before, talking about antifascism over Indian food with a small group of female colleagues.
At the risk of letting you think that I don’t love my family, I was a little tiny bit glad that my flight home had a short delay. A delay at the airport can mean more time to stuff my face or read a book, and less time to have to deal with obligations at home. I wasn’t too happy about the Salt Lake City airport’s seeming lack of air conditioning, though. The little air nozzle over my seat on the airplane was a relief after spending an extra 45 minutes in the waiting area. The flight crew got us home pretty quickly, too. When I got home, my son said he didn’t miss me, even though I missed him. “I actually didn’t!” he emphasized. Well then. Bring on more work trips.
