It’s always the quiet ones. That’s what they tell me anyway. I’m pretty sure the whole expression is, “It’s always the quiet ones you have to watch out for,” but to be honest, that doesn’t help me understand it much. Do people expect me to jump out from behind their blackout curtains just as they’re settling in for the evening? Steal the highlighters I borrow from them? Occasionally say something snarky? The horror.
If you haven’t guessed it yet, I’m what you’d call “one of the quiet ones,” reserved, an introvert.
So, what’s that like?
Well, over the past few years, there’s been a lot more talk about temperament and about introversion in particular. If you’d like to dig a bit further into the subject, feel free to do some Googling, hit the library or check out Bessie Liu’s review of Susan Cain’s Quiet in The News-Letter’s March 2 issue. A tried-and-true humanities nerd, I’m not the best person to tell you about the science, but maybe I can give you a peek behind the curtain.
It goes without saying that no two introverts have an identical experience, just as no two extroverts do, and the baseline definition of introversion — being recharged and reenergized by time alone rather than by socializing — is relatively easy to understand.
As with most things, however, the official definition doesn’t quite cover it. There are plenty of articles and listicles floating around about caring for and nurturing your introverts, and that’s all very well and good, but what about the initial experiences of introversion or the gray areas?
What about when am I having an introvert moment, and when am I having a tired moment, studious moment or just plain spaced-out moment? To be honest, I don’t have any more idea than you do, usually, but it can occasionally be comforting to have a name to assign to the overall pattern.
Especially in elementary school, before either me or my classmates knew there was such a thing as temperament, there was a sense of something being different about my degree of inclination toward social situations, that there was something deficient about it compared to the bubblier, more loquacious second, third and fourth graders around me.
It’s not as though I was biting the bullet to spend every weekend with my classmates but would wake up on Saturday morning feeling too drained for it: In other words, I was never at war with my own disposition. Even so, having parents and teachers question my involvement, whether I was doing okay or had enough friends, stood out as strange. I didn’t feel like I was missing out, but the people around me seemed to, so maybe I was wrong.
Eventually, though, I did come across the idea of introversion. The first person I tried this idea out on rebuffed it immediately, as though I had just called myself stupid. “You’re not an introvert,” she said, “You’re very friendly.”
Thanks very much, but I never said I wasn’t friendly or that I was afraid of people. I’m picturing myself curled on my couch on the weekend with Netflix and a bowl of raspberries, and she’s picturing me tongue-tied and trembling in the face of small talk.
Introversion can even have its pluses, too. Facing a weekend without plans isn’t a chore; It’s an opportunity. Long drives by myself are a good time to think. Solitary train rides are solid gold for uninterrupted writing and reading.
Now, once again, not all introverts are alike. Just like extroverts, we’ve got our share of anxiety issues, be they related or unrelated to our temperament. We also have our share of enthusiasms. It’s just that we might need an hour or two (or a day or two) to ourselves. It’s not quite the same as the need for food or sleep; Sometimes it comes creeping up like a sneaking suspicion that this might be a good weekend to go on a solitary hike, and sometimes it hits all at once.
We don’t necessarily shut down to others entirely, but if we can extricate ourselves from any big-group plans with a reasonable amount of grace, we might just do that. (And, hey, even ambiverts and extroverts have those moments.)
Say it with me now, friends: Introverts have friends, not misanthropy issues. I know it’s not your first time hearing it, but the reminder can be helpful, even to me when I’m wondering why the event I’ve looked forward to all week now seems like an uphill climb.
Most of the time, I can psych myself up, get out there and have a good time (maybe still wearing a blanket shawl for good measure), but sometimes I’ll indulge and give my introversion a night to itself.
