Homebody

A friend of mine recently said to me, "I don't think I've ever met somebody who likes being at home as much as you."

As much as we laughed about it, it's true.

I've always enjoyed just being in my house. I suppose that it started when I was homeschooled, since I didn't have to leave my house everyday. When I got to college, I would be out a bit more - but not by much. Sunday nights I would go out with friends after we'd worked up an appetite after Ballroom Dance Club, but I would be home in plenty of time. Theatre rehearsals took up a lot of my nights as well, but I didn't do much beyond that.

My viewpoint about going home back then was the same that it is now - if I go home, I'm not coming back out. So I would frequently stay on campus all day, either doing homework in a corner of a building on campus or hanging out with friends who lived on or near campus until my next class or rehearsal. This would give me time to hang out with friends, but I rarely did anything beyond that. No parties, no campus events, no sports games (and since I went to college at an SEC school, I was usually one of the few who didn't go). I enjoyed being at home, though I did get teased about it.

My two best friends at the time tried to get me to come out more, but I always politely declined. They worried that I'd become a homebody, but the title didn't phase me.

When I moved away from my hometown to start my teaching career, I was a homebody for a slightly different reason: I was broke. It was my first time living completely alone, with no roommates or siblings or family to speak of. And though I didn't have any desire to really go anywhere, I felt like I had an excuse.

I was completely content staying in my house that summer, putting together puzzles, watching tv, and reading. It was then that I started to think that maybe being a homebody wasn't so bad.

As I got older and moved states and schools, I began to make some friends that I enjoyed being out with. I would go to happy hours after work and the occasional house party. I would even go on solo adventures into DC to visit museums. But at the end of it all, I usually enjoyed coming right back home.

During the pandemic, I wasn't really bothered by having to stay home. I had everything that I needed to make me happy, so I felt set. My roommate, however? It was driving him insane. He felt stifled, and missed the connection with other people outside of his house. It was fascinating to see how differently we handled being home; I think it was then that I started to realize that I might be a homebody for real.

For this same roommate's birthday one year, we went to a club after dinner. I did not have fun. From waiting outside in heels to being inside with music blasting, people dancing around me, and nowhere to sit, I was uncomfortable. Even having a couple of drinks failed to make me more comfortable. I found myself wishing that the group had gone with the floated idea of grabbing a few bottles and heading back to the hotel to play cards or board games.

To date, that has been my only experience going to a club.

My homebody tendencies were solidified even more for me this past school year; while I became closer with my co-workers (this has been the first year where most of my direct co-workers are my age or close to it), everyone learned pretty quickly that I enjoy being home.

One friend had a full day of activities planned for her birthday; I picked one that was earlier in the day, and then went home. I've been to a few brunches, birthday parties, engagement parties, housewarming parties. Yet while friends would be making plans to go out afterwards, I was making plans to head home.

Baseball or basketball games? Hard pass. Staff happy hour? I'm good, thanks. I ventured out for lunch and an afternoon at the casino on the last day of school for teachers, and I still went home before they did.

Before long, my friends would be discussing their weekend plans of going out, but wouldn't invite me. Not because they were purposefully excluding me, but because they knew I was going to say no and would rather stay home. It was an unspoken understanding, but I actually appreciated it.

I was once told that no man would ever want to just sit in the house with me, and I had to be willing to push myself and go places more often.

Joke's on them.

While my boyfriend does enjoy going out to dinner or going on a hike, he's perfectly content with staying in. I even met him on a dating app before we met in person.

As I think about it, I realize that home really is my safe place. As a writer, it's my landing zone. My desk, computer, monitor, and sticky notes are always here waiting for me. I can listen to music (at appropriate levels, none of that club blasting), have conversations with the few people I've invited over without shouting, or watch tv in my pajamas. The introvert in me loves the ability to chose what voices and sounds I hear, if any at all.

Plus, outside is expensive. I've already paid for what's in my house.

So yes. I'm a homebody. Could I push myself to go outside more? Probably, and I might do that. But overall?

I'm happy in my house.