I don’t do extroversion well. A life-long natural introvert, I missed the early training. Say stupid and rude things out loud when you are six, not in your 40’s.
I find a safe audience in an unusual place, the cemetery. Adjusting for my intro-extro index of the moment, I can speak out to all, or to smaller groups of graves. The ghosts seem flattered by my company. They listen attentively, never interrupt, and when I am done they send me away with quiet, gentle assurance that amounts to this: “Stop whining! You are ALIVE!”