Introverts
This weekend a friend sent me a book called Introvert Doodles, because she and I often bond over our hatred of phone calls, parties, and situations where we have to talk to people or do crazy things like leave the house.
It got me started thinking about my own history of introversion. As a kid I built a hiding spot in my closet, a tiny rectangular space where I could close the doors and sit and read and nobody would bug me. I have a vague memory of hiding in there when I got in trouble for something having to do with eating cookie dough, too—but I might have made that up.
When I was even younger than that I was playing in the backyard of our house in Columbus, Ohio when two figures appeared at the edge of the yard. I can see them in my head now, two young girls, mostly shadowy outlines to my memory, stepping around the electric pole and distinctly heading towards my house. I ran in the house crying to hide. Later my mom came to find me—"They just wanted to see if you could play," she said. I did not want to play.
On my 8th birthday we went to Pizza Hut with my grandparents. The waiters sang "Happy Birthday" to me, surrounding our table as everyone in the restaurant stared. I cried. I was so mad.
I hate being the center of attention. I hate being put on the spot. I hate not having the chance to be prepared, to know what I'm going to say. Being around strangers—or even a large group of people I know—exhausts me. I never want to go to parties. Never. There's no exceptions. Even when it's with people I enjoy. Even if it's a cookie party where I can eat as many cookies as I like and magical adorable puppies will curl up in my lap. I might end up having fun anyway, but if it's a situation where I'll have to talk to people, I guarantee you I'll spend at least half the time wondering if I can go home yet.
I'll do just about anything to avoid having to make a phone call. I've been exchanging voice mails for almost a week now with a guy from Indianapolis Power & Light about getting cheaper rates for charging my electric car. I get up the—"nerve" isn't the right word...willpower?—to call him, and I get his voicemail. Then he calls back when I'm in a meeting or otherwise occupied, and I put off calling him back until I can't avoid it anymore. I'm supposed to call the internet company at the lake to try to get Grandpa's rate lowered and I've been putting that off, too. I'm not sure why phone calls bug me so much—they just put me on edge. What if I can't hear what the person is saying? What if I don't have an answer? What if they want to argue about something? I hate phone calls. Let me write it out in an email where I can plan what I want to say and tweak my wording before I send it.
I hate phone calls, but I can do them. I'm not quite sure why I'm like this—it's not like I hate people. It's not like I feel insecure, or don't think I have anything to offer. A "strengths finder" assessment we had to take at work once told me that I hate small talk—I think it's disingenuous and fake and pointless. That's probably accurate. But I've noticed that in professional settings, I enjoy being the one speaking. I like showing my expertise, leading a discussion, teaching, making my voice heard. That didn't always used to be the case, but in the last ten years or so I've found I really like being a know-it-all. I've done the public speaking thing on a number of occasions and handled myself well. I've led conference calls, workshops, training sessions. I can network, I can work a social gathering. I can even go to a party or event by myself. But it's exhausting and I'd much rather be safe at home, where nobody judges me, there's no need to find the right thing to say or be interesting, and I can just relax. Forced social activity is the worst.
That's the thing about introversion. It's not necessarily being "quiet," or "shy," or "insecure." It's about getting your energy from the internal instead of the external. My mom, a definite extrovert, sometimes asks what I'm doing for the weekend, and if I say "nothing," she feels like that's a bad thing. I think it's a great thing. But the world isn't designed around introverts. If you have no desire to go to a work Christmas party—I have to be "Work Haley" and see these people all day, every day! Why would I want to give up my free time and be "Work Haley" after hours, too?—then you're anti-social and there's something wrong with you. Why don't you like having fun? I like having fun, I just like it one-on-one, or going to a play or a movie instead of awkwardly standing around drinking and making small talk.
One of my old bosses always used to push me to network, to reach out to people in the industry on LinkedIn and set up coffee meetings. That is torture. But in his mind, that's what made a successful career. And I do admit it's made me a more versatile and flexible person to have to practice those skills. Doesn't mean I don't hate it. Now as a consultant I have days full of phone calls or meetings with new clients, and I dread those, too—the worst is the client who refuses to discuss anything over email and instead interrupts me multiple times a day to ramble about what he needs on endless phone calls. I suppose it's a necessary evil. I just wish more people understood that not everyone works the same way.
When I was even younger than that I was playing in the backyard of our house in Columbus, Ohio when two figures appeared at the edge of the yard. I can see them in my head now, two young girls, mostly shadowy outlines to my memory, stepping around the electric pole and distinctly heading towards my house. I ran in the house crying to hide. Later my mom came to find me—"They just wanted to see if you could play," she said. I did not want to play.
On my 8th birthday we went to Pizza Hut with my grandparents. The waiters sang "Happy Birthday" to me, surrounding our table as everyone in the restaurant stared. I cried. I was so mad.
I hate being the center of attention. I hate being put on the spot. I hate not having the chance to be prepared, to know what I'm going to say. Being around strangers—or even a large group of people I know—exhausts me. I never want to go to parties. Never. There's no exceptions. Even when it's with people I enjoy. Even if it's a cookie party where I can eat as many cookies as I like and magical adorable puppies will curl up in my lap. I might end up having fun anyway, but if it's a situation where I'll have to talk to people, I guarantee you I'll spend at least half the time wondering if I can go home yet.
I'll do just about anything to avoid having to make a phone call. I've been exchanging voice mails for almost a week now with a guy from Indianapolis Power & Light about getting cheaper rates for charging my electric car. I get up the—"nerve" isn't the right word...willpower?—to call him, and I get his voicemail. Then he calls back when I'm in a meeting or otherwise occupied, and I put off calling him back until I can't avoid it anymore. I'm supposed to call the internet company at the lake to try to get Grandpa's rate lowered and I've been putting that off, too. I'm not sure why phone calls bug me so much—they just put me on edge. What if I can't hear what the person is saying? What if I don't have an answer? What if they want to argue about something? I hate phone calls. Let me write it out in an email where I can plan what I want to say and tweak my wording before I send it.
I hate phone calls, but I can do them. I'm not quite sure why I'm like this—it's not like I hate people. It's not like I feel insecure, or don't think I have anything to offer. A "strengths finder" assessment we had to take at work once told me that I hate small talk—I think it's disingenuous and fake and pointless. That's probably accurate. But I've noticed that in professional settings, I enjoy being the one speaking. I like showing my expertise, leading a discussion, teaching, making my voice heard. That didn't always used to be the case, but in the last ten years or so I've found I really like being a know-it-all. I've done the public speaking thing on a number of occasions and handled myself well. I've led conference calls, workshops, training sessions. I can network, I can work a social gathering. I can even go to a party or event by myself. But it's exhausting and I'd much rather be safe at home, where nobody judges me, there's no need to find the right thing to say or be interesting, and I can just relax. Forced social activity is the worst.
That's the thing about introversion. It's not necessarily being "quiet," or "shy," or "insecure." It's about getting your energy from the internal instead of the external. My mom, a definite extrovert, sometimes asks what I'm doing for the weekend, and if I say "nothing," she feels like that's a bad thing. I think it's a great thing. But the world isn't designed around introverts. If you have no desire to go to a work Christmas party—I have to be "Work Haley" and see these people all day, every day! Why would I want to give up my free time and be "Work Haley" after hours, too?—then you're anti-social and there's something wrong with you. Why don't you like having fun? I like having fun, I just like it one-on-one, or going to a play or a movie instead of awkwardly standing around drinking and making small talk.
One of my old bosses always used to push me to network, to reach out to people in the industry on LinkedIn and set up coffee meetings. That is torture. But in his mind, that's what made a successful career. And I do admit it's made me a more versatile and flexible person to have to practice those skills. Doesn't mean I don't hate it. Now as a consultant I have days full of phone calls or meetings with new clients, and I dread those, too—the worst is the client who refuses to discuss anything over email and instead interrupts me multiple times a day to ramble about what he needs on endless phone calls. I suppose it's a necessary evil. I just wish more people understood that not everyone works the same way.