Column: Signs You Might Need To Check On Your Extroverted Friend

Please Check on Your Extroverted Friends During a Snow Storm

Snow storms are often described as peaceful—quiet mornings, hot tea, a forced pause.

For extroverts, they are a social emergency.

When snow shuts down roads and cancels plans, extroverts aren’t just inconvenienced. They are abruptly cut off from the thing that keeps them emotionally upright: people. And while some folks lean into the silence, extroverts stare at it, pace around it, and eventually start talking to it.

It usually begins with optimism.

Day one brings soup, candles, and brave declarations like, “I actually needed this.” They post about coziness. They reorganize something that did not need reorganizing. Spirits are high.

By day two, cracks appear. Weather apps are refreshed obsessively. Windows are stared through like portals to a better life. Going to check the mail is considered—unnecessary ones—just to feel alive.

By day three, the longing isn’t for friends. It’s for strangers. The cashier. The delivery driver. Anyone who might ask, “How’s your day?” Pets are promoted to coworkers. Thoughts are narrated out loud. The house is no longer cozy; it is a prison with throw pillows. Alexa now knows your life story.

If the storm drags on, extroverts adapt the only way they know how: by creating connection where none exists. Unnecessary online meetings are held. Group chats are overused. Voice notes turn into poetry. “I’m fine,” is repeated louder each time, as if volume will make it true.

This isn’t drama.

It’s wiring.

Extroverts recharge through interaction the same way others recharge through solitude. Remove that connection and they don’t quietly wilt—they unravel with commentary.

So during the next snow storm, check on your extroverted friends. Call them. Schedule something—even virtual. Let them talk.

The snow will melt.

And with a little human interaction, your extroverted friend will survive it—without naming the furniture.