Coming to Terms with Life: I, Too, Am an Introvert

Passing midpoint in this earthly existence, I’ve noticed I have a well-established preference for being alone much of the time. It’s not conscious. I don’t ever have to tell myself, “you need to get away from people, and now.” I simply find myself by myself. It’s like shifting in my seat to make myself more comfortable without having to devote any awareness to the act.

For years, a favorite essay explained much of this to me without immediately convincing me that I was a full-blown introvert. Jonathan Rauch’s piece in The Atlantic in 2003 struck the right chord with millions of us. We could see for the first time that nature had to be involved, not only nurture or some odd, aberrational proclivity we’d developed and needed to be freed from. Rauch’s essay introduces the concept of fatigue as the chief driving force behind introversion. While extroverts may go crazy without someone to talk to (or at), introverts like me feel our bodies and eyelids sagging when we’re trapped in many conversations.

This does not stop introverts from trying and often succeeding in careers and professions in which constant interaction is the norm. But they’ll have to conserve their energy. Think of Dick Cheney sitting quietly at a meeting – it’s not only a Machiavellian ploy, it’s also very likely his nature. He’s conserving his energy for more agreeable circumstances. Cheney strikes me as someone who realized early that he could only succeed if he worked with his penchant for not talking, rather than against it. I’ve seen others at all levels who’ve done well, but all it takes is seeing them at a party to realize that they are out of their element in large groups of jabbering people. They might hang close to a spouse or date (often also an introvert, for how else could they be tolerated?). They hesitate before talking, although they know full well that this time, talk they must. They look for an excuse to move along quickly, because they can feel their intellectual and emotional batteries oozing out all their energy.

As Rauch notes, we introverts can often talk in front of large audiences without compromising our true nature. Thus I can meet with classes over and over again, and on occasion stand before huge groups in auditoriums. In such settings, the control and flow of the interaction is never in doubt. It’s not a real conversation of the kind that we find so draining. Either I’m lecturing, or responding to a direct question, or at most directing the Socratic pursuit of some momentarily obscured truth.

There are other introverts who are also shy. I’m not one of them. I don’t mind being on stage, and I like playing the ham. I can get what extroverts seek from their interactions (validation and human contact) without engaging the part of my brain required when one banters and converses at length, whether it be while making small talk at a party, explaining oneself on a first date, or engaging in any of the required group exercises in a large organization like a university. I don’t even mind extroverts in small doses. As a matter of fact, my ideal (brief) conversation partner is an extrovert from a dysfunctional family. I can mostly listen to their tales of woe and their gossip. I need only ask a few questions when I’m particularly interested in one or another aspect. Since I come from a highly functional family of introverts, this other world never ceases to beguile me. Likewise, I can’t get enough of movies about extroverted family members at each other’s throats.

Luckily, I’ve ended up with a nearly perfect life for someone like me. That shouldn’t be surprising. I’ve had enough time to nudge the outward circumstances of my life into conformity with my inner nature. I regard myself as uniquely blessed sometimes when I realize how absolutely quiet it is, how alone I am. I enjoy others without actually feeling I need them. An energetic dog engages what is left of my need for interaction, and on our long walks together through quiet suburban lanes I have more than enough time, and silence, to realize what a charmed existence I’ve been granted.