On being an introvert

How I learned to be quiet and indulge my essential nature

It was only about a decade ago that I learned that my aversion to many social situations is not because I am a misanthrope but rather because I am an introvert.

Not that the two are mutually exclusive, and not that I do not at times entertain misanthropy, which my dictionary defines as “hatred or mistrust of humankind.” There is plenty of reason to feel that way, but that is a topic for another time and another column.

I was only vaguely aware of the concept of introversion vs. extroversion until, due to some tragic life circumstances that left me alone and isolated, I had time and reason to explore what made me tick – and what made me not tick. I cannot remember exactly how I came to read about introversion or what exactly I read, other than some of Susan Cain’s excellent books on the topic (including Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking). The behavioral descriptions of the two “types” of people – and I put “types” in scare quotes because that is by necessity an oversimplification of a complex formula of characteristics, or a spectrum, to use a bit of popular jargon – rang very true to me, especially when Cain and others were talking about this duality in terms of energy flow.

Extroverts, I came to understand, thrive on social engagement. They feed on the energy of others; they love big parties and chatting up a crowd; and they come away from these encounters energized. In their own way, they get high with a little help from their friends, and therefore they are eager to repeat experiences, as anyone would, that leave them feeling invigorated. Extroverts are fueled by social exchange.

Introverts are the opposite. An extreme way of thinking about introverts is that Jean-Paul Sartre captured their mindset when he wrote, “Hell is other people.” A less extreme way of thinking about them is that socialism, as I like to call it, drains them of energy. Introverts pay a price (in energy) for almost every social engagement. Parties and other casual social gatherings – even business meetings -- leave introverts feeling empty and exhausted and in need of rest and relaxation in order to recharge their inner batteries.

Introversion is often conflated or confused with shyness, but given the understanding outlined above, shyness really has nothing to do with introversion. An introvert is not necessarily shy – I certainly am not – and a shy person could well be an extrovert. Just perhaps a quiet one who silently enjoys being part of the crowd and gains fulfillment just by being there.

In my case, the realization that my default is introversion helped to explain a lot of difficulties I have had over the course of my life, with feelings of anxiety and depression amplified by the expectations our culture puts on all of us to be exuberant social creatures. For example, as so many do, I made use of “social lubricants” like alcohol to allay the pain and anxiety of being out and about amongst people. This might work for some, but for me it only temporarily provided relief, enough to get me through an evening, but not without paying the cost of what it was covering up. The introversion was still there; the alcohol merely disguised it in the moment. I was still left at the end of the night, and the next day and maybe even the next day, feeling mentally and emotionally exhausted by the socialism, and the alcohol only made that feeling even worse.

I had already quit drinking for a good number of years by the time I learned all this, but it was helpful to understand why I had used alcohol as an emotional crutch (albeit one that was totally ineffective and even harmful at times).

Even more important, the realization that I am an introvert helped me recalibrate how I lived my life, especially in relationship to other people. As I said above, I am not a misanthrope -- although I admit to making some close friends laugh every now and then when I would declare, “People are loathsome.” (Did I just write, “close friends”? Yes, even introverts can have a few. Preferably one at a time.)

But seriously: self-knowledge is a wonderful thing. And given that there is absolutely nothing wrong with being an introvert (even if our entire culture is built around values that encourage extroversion and discourage the opposite), accepting that as my inner truth helped strengthen the foundations of how I live. It altered my expectations of my social capacities and lack of such. I came to value the positives of introversion: gaining energy from quiet, silence, downtime, reading, writing, thinking, and, especially, cultivating a few, strong personal relationships as opposed to gathering an ever-growing social nexus.

Had I enjoyed some greater perspective and self-knowledge earlier on, I would have understand that of course I would choose to be a writer, a profession that is practically tailor-made for an introvert, as it requires working alone, hours of isolation, and the ability to feed oneself with a personal energy loop rather than requiring social situations to refill the tank.

There were a few times in my life where I did work jobs that required me to show up where others were working, to work with others, and to collaborate on projects rather than always working alone. And I do look back on those few times with fondness and favor. But now I understand, for example, why, when I was a magazine editor, I often had to close my office door sometime in mid-afternoon, turn off the lights, lie down on the couch in my office, and close my eyes for a half-hour, an hour, or maybe even more. My colleagues knew to let me be during these times, which helped immensely, and I know I worked better, smarter, and more efficiently by allowing myself this indulgence.

Bob Dylan is by all accounts an extreme introvert. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone, not even the musicians in his band. Yet he has inexplicably performed more concerts than any of his peers for the last three-plus decades. He is out there almost every night among people (although as soon as he is offstage, he is well-hid underneath his hoodie, a fashion choice he has favored for its practicality since the early-1980s, long before it became de rigueur). Dylan captured the seeming contradictions of being an introvert in a culture that values extroversion when he sang these lines in his 1981 song, “The Groom’s Still Waiting at the Altar”:

Try to be pure at heart, they arrest you for robbery
Mistake your shyness for aloofness, your silence for snobbery
Got the message this morning, the one that was sent to me
About the madness of becomin’ what one was never meant to be.

Indulging my introverted tendencies was certainly a strategy I doubled up on once I truly understood and embraced the nature of my (anti-)social dynamic. Granted, this is privileged behavior that not everyone, and certainly not all introverts, have access to, at least not to the extent that I have made it part of my daily life, which often includes downtime, walks, naps, and other solitary pursuits. But in different ways I worked, knowingly or unknowingly, for a lifetime to set things up in such a way that I could enjoy this indulgence of my essential nature. And I did not come to this point without having to make choices and sacrifices that some along the way might not have understood or approved of. To quote the Bible (if not Popeye), “I am that I am.” And in my case, I am an introvert.

And with that, it’s time for me to lie down and take a nap.