Throughout his life, Austrian writer Arthur Schnitzler kept a journal. His first entry dates from March 19, 1879, when he was just two months shy of turning 18. He wrote his last entry on Oct. 19, 1931, two days before he died. I own all of his 16,407 entries. That’s 10 volumes of about 400 pages each and a font size so small you’ll need reading glasses.

Like Schnitzler, I also keep a journal. In fact, my younger self was a most avid writer. While Schnitzler’s journal is a record of his daily encounters, meticulously listing the people he socialized with, my journal is the place where I complain, vent and cry. It just quietly listens and makes me feel understood. Now that I’m much older I don’t write as much anymore. But whenever I need a supportive confidant, I turn to it.

Schnitzler always desired attention and wanted his journal to published after his death. I, in contrast, don’t like attention and absolutely hate the thought of someone else ever reading my journal. At some point I shredded every entry I’d ever written. And now, whenever a book’s filled up, I shred it right away.

While many people thrive around others, I thrive on my own. Already as a kid, I preferred spending my time alone over playing with others. Whenever I had to socialize, I felt more comfortable around adults than kids. For some reason, I loved performing the 1962 hit song “Heisser Sand” (i.e., “Hot Sand”) in front of adults. As a teenager, I loved giving presentations and took classes to improve my skills. Yet somehow, with the years passing, I’ve become much more withdrawn and that desire to attract attention has disappeared. Nowadays, when a social event’s coming up, I get terribly anxious, restless and irritated, and all I want to do is stay away.

The COVID lockdown was a hard time for many people. Not for me. Suddenly I didn’t have to attend get-togethers anymore. I felt so incredibly free — free of being forced to socialize. For me the lockdown was paradise. With the lockdown having become a distant memory, I now enjoy my summers even more. I typically spend them in the Austrian countryside with hardly any human soul around. My social activities are limited to regularly talking with my mom, husband and best friend, and to having a few interactions when going shopping. And that’s all I need to be happy and content.

Socializing undoubtedly serves an important social function. Not only is it a cultural norm, but it also builds relationships, signals your interest in the other person and allows you to gather information about how the other person ticks. It also maintains existing relationships. Moreover, it distracts you from problems, helps you relax and offers a chance to vent. Knowing all that, however, doesn’t make socializing more appealing to me, because I’m a writer and not a talker.

Talking happens very fast and is spontaneous, unstructured and chaotic as it can go in any direction, depending on your conversation partner’s response. I’m not spontaneous, need clear structures and don’t like unexpected surprises. I also need time to reflect on other people’s thoughts and to frame my own. Although I’ve gotten better at asking questions and contributing to conversations, doing this requires a lot of energy and thus truly exhausts me. Even if it’s just a few minutes of small talk.

But if you always say no to social gatherings or don’t do some occasional friendly small talk, you’re excluding yourself. And if you exclude yourself, you’ll end up with a huge problem. Before graduating from university back in Austria, I asked the employment office for some tips on finding a job. “Of course you’ve established connections during your college years. Now you want to draw on them,” was the answer — no, I haven’t.

The other day I listened to an Austrian radio show discussing palliative care. Turns out if you don’t have family or friends when you’re too sick to speak for yourself, or if you don’t have a family doctor who knows you well and can thus refer you to the right place, you may not even get the care you need — well, looks like I’m doomed in that regard, too.

And actually, not socializing and thus not networking means being doomed in a lot of instances. Without connections, there are no people to list as a reference. While you don’t need references in Austria to apply for school or to rent an apartment, you do need them here in the U.S. So without my husband and his references, I’d be homeless.

One day, when the three close people in my life are dead, I’ll be entirely on my own. Odds are I won’t go to a senior center or social events to engage with others. I’m tempted to follow the path of the Japanese poet Kamo no Choumei (1155-1216) who spent part of his life in a secluded grass hut of about 32 square feet. There he wrote “Houjouki,” a poetic Buddhist reflection on finding contentment and joy in a simple life out in Nature and solitude. It’s considered a Japanese classic and has inspired people to this day, including me. I’m thinking contemplating and writing surrounded only by Nature would really be a wonderful way to end my life here on Earth.

Dr. Daniela Ribitsch, a native of Austria, is a resident of Lock Haven.