Furtive glance on the elevator whispers, “I see you. I know you. I am you, and I am glad that you are here.” Your mutual silence is comforting to my decidedly stimulated brain. I see you artfully arranged on strategically placed couches with your noise canceling headphones in place. I am, admittedly, a little envious of your first claim of right to the couch. Though there is ample room for another body, I dare not interrupt your solitude. I respect your space; your battery is recharging.
The elephant in the room, albeit an often very quiet elephant, is the introvert. But, I see you soaking in the new angles of old information and familiar angles of the new. I hear your thoughtful probing of the presenters, and I can see the speed of your mind formulating unheard of combinations of inquiry. I see your new ideas, your new projects, your new plans; your newness. I, too, have claimed this newness. This new invigoration, this new energy, this new resolve, this new commitment. The kind of newness that is only barely adequately described by sentence fragments because it defies and even mocks correct grammar and syntax. It just IS. And it IS comfortable in its own skin & its own presence.
We are basking in this new. We have quietly recommitted ourselves to this weighty mission and the ideals of family medicine. We are doing whatever it takes. We are stepping out of our comfort zones—putting ourselves out there. We are taking to heart the lessons of the day.
To the presenters of the writing session, I heard you. We all heard you. I am bettered by your take home message; someone somewhere always wants to listen—needs to hear.
To my fellow introverts, thank you for bringing your offerings to the table. Thank you for the caffeine you ingested and the brief sojourns into the sunshine and the corners that you occupied in the name of recharging. Though I do not know all of your names, I saw you. I know that you will all go home and earn Tomatoes (especially, my new east coast friend who inspired this turn of phrase). Tomatoes, you say? Yes, Tomatoes. From the grateful patients who will bring you the work of their hands—these treasures born of gratitude—for the work that you will do.