Introvert Power

by Laurie Helgoe

  Searching for home helps us define what it is we need. It wasn't until I left Minnesota that I developed an appreciation for its introverted characteristics, and I have found different pieces of the puzzle in each place I have lived. You have likely gathered your own pieces of the puzzle, and this may be a good time to take note of your discoveries. Introverts are, by nature, travelers. Whether you use the vehicle of literature, cinema, the Internet, the open road, or the limitless sky, you have probably visited many worlds. And if you enjoy science fiction or fantasy, you are particularly adept at envisioning alternative realities. You may want to take a moment and write a list of these places, real or imagined, and identify the features of each place that help you feel comfortably introverted.

  But does such an alternative reality even exist? If America is extroverted, are there other societies that are introverted? What would an introverted society look like, feel like? What are the elements of an introverted society?

  Let's explore two cultures that have been identified with introversion: Nordic culture, or Norden, and Japan.

  NORDEN: PRIVATE AND PROUD

  Norden, meaning "the north," refers to the countries that make up the Nordic Council: Denmark, Finland, Iceland, Norway, and Sweden. Though each country has its own distinct character, commonalities in language and geography give it the flavor we know as "Scandinavian."

  Growing up in the American North—Minnesota—gave me an early taste for Scandinavian culture. I knew my heritage. I am 100 percent Norwegian, a descendant of the Vikings. We are tough and stoic. We don't whine. Life, as my dad put it, was "sweat, blood, and tears." Like Norway, Minnesota was cold, so we had to reserve energy and be resilient. People—except, it seemed, the ones living with me—didn't talk more than necessary; they just took care of things.

  This "Norden of the U.S." values privacy and reserve, along with a code of civility—the "MinnesotaNice" I learned so well—that engenders clean neighborhoods and respectful interactions. If your shopping cart accidentally hits someone else's, you plead "I'msorry" (with an emphasis on the "o" sound, of course). Some grocery stores in the metro area of Minneapolis-St. Paul provide carpeted floors, chandeliers, and soft music; clean indoor air was guaranteed long before this became a national trend; and lawns, even in poorer neighborhoods, are well-tended and trimmed. Lakes within the city limits are kept clean, and are encircled by walking and bike paths, benches and parkland.

  Still, Minnesotans who visit a city in the homeland, such as Bergen, Norway, are stunned by its beauty and cleanliness. Public bathrooms are immaculate, brightly colored flowers spill out of window boxes (in season), and the air is crisp and clean. Introverts are less likely to feel overstimulated here, and are spared the constant evidence (i.e., trash) of the other people who share this space. Author Donald S. Connery captures this "freshness" in his book, The Scandinavians:

  Norway has the clear-eyed appearance of the freshest, cleanest, and most natural nation in Europe. It is almost as if the weary and sophisticated continent had set Norway apart as a national park or royal preserve and had appointed the Norwegians as custodians to keep the waters clear, the mountain snows untouched by industrial soot, and the wonders of nature unspoiled by thoughtless trespassers.

  Salivating? There's more. There's not only more natural space outside, but employees in Norden get more space at work, both for their thinking and for their time away from work. The prevailing form of government, social democracy, embraces consensus decision-making, a more inclusive, "feminine" style of management, and attention to the individual worker. While this may seem a far cry from the Viking way of getting things done, there's another side to that story. These brutal warriors are thought to have established the first democracy — in the form of regular common meetings. Radical for the times, women and handicapped people could attend. These meetings, translated, were called "The Thing"—all hail Scandinavian simplicity!

  The value of the individual voice continues to be evident in the Norden workplace. Managers go to lengths to see that each employee is represented in decision-making, and often meet privately with individuals to solicit their views. A relative of mine who works for a Danish company said that the efforts to reach consensus in meetings were frustrating for her at first, and required her to slow down the more driven pace she had been accustomed to. The discussions foster inner action as well as interaction, allowing a deeper level of analysis and understanding.

  And, perhaps most attractive of all for the introvert, Norden employees get an abundance of time away from work. While an American mother often struggles to put together even a short maternity leave—using her vacation time or unpaid family leave—a Swedish mom and dad get over a year of parental leave to divide up as they choose. That's paid leave at 80 percent of salary. The Swedes also know how to vacation—about seven weeks a year, paid, not counting holidays. The other Nordic countries also have generous policies, and members of the European Union are guaranteed at least twenty days of paid leave. The United States, which provides no minimum leave requirement, was referred to in one analysis as the "No-Vacation Nation."

  So Nordic people are virtually guaranteed two resources introverts crave: space and time. The Norden personality emphasizes privacy, restraint, respect, and equality—values an introvert can appreciate. The dominantly Lutheran religious culture emphasizes private faith over public evangelism. Showoffs are not appreciated. Norden restraint has been the target of parodies and jokes, passed around freely in Minnesota, and often heard on Garrison Keillor's A Prairie Home Companion. An example: "Did you hear about the Norwegian who loved his wife so much he almost told her?"

  Could we be talking about repression here, rather than restraint? Are these people too nice to be fun? Is there a "wild inside" under the surface? Here are some observations:

  • The wild in Norway is found in nature, and in the physicality of the hardy people who live there. The mountainous country is cut by deep fjords and stunning lakes, until the landscape drops sharply to ragged coastline dotted with innumerable islands. Almost a third of the country extends north of the Arctic Circle. As author Donald Connery put it, "Norway is nature gone berserk." Introverts who would rather contend with nature than people would probably find a home here, as well as those of us who secretly enjoy being snowed in. Many Northerners resonate with the intensely private John Steinbeck, who wrote, "I've lived in a good climate, and it bores the hell out of me. I like weather rather than climate."

  • The lands that produced the great existentialist Søren Kierkegaard (Denmark) and master filmmaker Ingmar Bergman (Sweden) reflect their deeply introspective characters. Geographic isolation and long, dark winters are conducive to "going inside," psychologically as well as physically. At its darkest, around December 21, northern Norway sees no day at all; the sun does not rise.

  • Intellectual pursuit and creativity also thrive in Norden, and introverted thinkers find a welcoming environment. Sweden's child, Alfred Nobel, is the archetype of the generative introvert. A chemist and physicist, he is best known for inventing dynamite and for his will, which established and funded the legacy now known as the Nobel Prize—the highest honor for achievements in world peace, science, and literature. In addition to holding 350 patents and controlling factories and laboratories in twenty countries, Nobel was fluent in five languages and wrote novels, poetry, and plays in his spare time. Who has time to socialize?

  • Statistics from the World Health Organization (2007) indicate that each of the five Nordic countries have higher suicide rates than the U.S.; however, a meta-analysis of life satisfaction studies (Adrian White, University of Leicester) suggest that Norden is a very happy place. Denmark ranked the happiest of the 178 nations; Iceland came in fourth (in another study, Iceland was on top), Finland and Sweden were close behind, and Norway kept Norden in the top twenty by placing 19th. The U.S. placed 23rd. White suggested that the higher rate of suicide in Norden reflects the impact of long, dark winters, not the overall quality of l
ife. But the Nordic thinkers are on that, too: "Light cafes" allow you to sip a latte while basking in the glow of therapeutic light boxes. And the mood swings bright in this "Land of the Midnight Sun," when, around June 21, the sun stays out all night.

  So, other than the weather (which, let's face it, sucks) is there a downside to this healthy, prosperous, civil, highly educated, and vacation-abundant region? The "middle way" government, with features of both democracy and socialism, seems quite suited to the introvert, who requires freedom but is not big on competition. But citizens do pay for the balance: taxes are extremely high, and an introvert building a small business may be hard pressed to pay for the extravagant leave guaranteed to its employees. As a relatively isolated and homogeneous culture, it is likely that an introvert would feel very at home here, or very trapped—that is, until that paid vacation rolls around.

  JAPAN: MANNERS OVER MOUTH

  As a child living in my mini-Norden, a country home next to a white-steepled Lutheran church, I developed a fascination with Japanese culture. In contrast to the monochromatic feel of aMinnesota winter, Japan was color to me—from the jewel-toned kimono of the geisha to the ornate temples that looked like something out of Disneyland. Granted, my experience of Japan was highly influenced by Disney World—and my fixation on the Japanese children in "It's a Small World." Indeed, mine was a small world. Still, I have a picture book in my mind of my collected Japan experiences, from visiting a Japanese tea garden in San Francisco to receiving a green silk kimono-style robe from my much-traveled aunt. As a young person, I wanted to learn Ikebana (the Japanese art of flower arranging), to raise a Bonsai (those ancient but tiny twisted trees), and to one day visit Tokyo, a place that fully met the definition of foreign to me.

  If you look back, you may also have collected a culture as a child. I have yet to visit Tokyo, and had all but forgotten my childhood vow to visit—which I had put in writing, by the way—until I began the research for this book. Jung would smile: important archetypes have a way of coming back.

  Japan was my archetype, but I didn't know why. Whatever it was that drew me, I felt it in the intricacies of the tea garden: the path leading through a wonderland of exquisite greenery in every texture and shape, the mossy backdrop contrasting with grey stones, accents of pink wisteria and blue iris, leading me over trickling water by way of arching miniature bridges, or alongside a pond featuring the reflection of the tiered pagoda, to a bench ready for me in the shade. If I'm getting carried away in my description, I am only capturing how I felt—carried away. I felt careful here, but in a good way, like I wanted to walk on my tiptoes and not disturb the experience. I shivered with secret delight. I didn't want to leave. Ever.

  Now I realize that my experience in the tea garden captured what is introverted about Japanese society. Here was a space, created with such care, not for large gatherings or shared rituals. Here was a space designed to honor the private experience—a space that honored me.

  If the Nordic people are respectful, the Japanese are reverent. The customary greeting of the bow is an example of this reverence, as is the common preface of "honorable" when addressing someone, as in "honorable customer." Even the signs speak the language of reverence. T. R. Reid, former Tokyo bureau chief for the Washington Post and author of Confucius Lives Next Door, quoted a sign his neighbor put up to stop cars from blocking his narrow driveway: "We're sorry, but we must respectfully request that owners of honorable cars not connected to this household cooperate by refraining from parking in front of our humble driveway."

  I felt that reverence in the tea garden. Even though other people were enjoying the garden, I felt like I was the only inhabitant. The landscaping, arched bridges, and foliage seemed designed to block my view of the others. I was able to inhabit my own space in this public place.

  And the Japanese know that, oftentimes, the best way to honor you is to leave you alone. They honor personal space, perhaps because they have always had so little of it. When Americans meet someone for the first time, we feel obliged to extend a hand and introduce ourselves. This practice is considered intrusive in Japan, where enryo (pronounced inn-rio), translated as "holding back" or "restraint," governs interactions.

  It is common courtesy to give the other person time to size up the situation, to not overwhelm the person with your presence, so introductions are unlikely at the first meeting. Can you imagine people acting this way in America?We are taught to act on the extrovert assumption, that interaction is what people want. The Japanese seem to operate on the assumption that space and time are what people want—the introvert assumption. Unfortunately, we have not figured out how to import enryo along with Toshiba electronics and Toyota cars.

  Intrusive behavior is commonplace in America. You and a friend are having an intimate conversation in the restaurant, and a friend of your friend comes right over and interrupts you to say hello and start a new conversation. You're on the freeway, a lane is closing ahead, and you dutifully move over — while others use the opportunity to move ahead of you and merge at the last minute. You're on the phone and politely say you've got to go; the person on the other end keeps talking.

  While these examples are annoying, especially for us introverts, intrusion takes on a whole new meaning when it comes in the form of violence—and it's here where we could stand to feel some of that shame so associated with the Japanese. According to 1998 statistics from the United Nations' Office on Drugs and Crime, murders per capita were eight times more common in the U.S. than in Japan; rapes were twenty-five times more common, aggravated assault eighty-one times more common, and robbery was a staggering 146 times more common in the U.S. If you're thinking that they must have a punitive police force and scary prisons, not so. According to Reid, "the nation has one-third as many police per capita, one-fifth as many judges, one-twentieth as many jail cells" as the United States. Reid, who lived with his family in Japan for five years, set out to explain this "social miracle." His answer: Confucius.

  You cannot be an introvert and live on a cul-de-sac.

  —Margit, who now lives on a corner and is much happier

  Confucianism,more a code of ethics than a religion, has been woven into the fabric of Japanese life since the dawn of formal education. If you want to get a real feel for this phenomenon, read Confucius Lives Next Door, but to employ the American "bottom line," here's the gist: Everyone is responsible for making things work. Harmony, or wa, is a central value, and responsibility for wa is taught right alongside reading, geography, and math. The policing body is the individual conscience—the guilt and shame we are so phobic of in America.

  Here's the paradox of Japan: It's a society that honors the whole over the individual, and because of that, individuals don't get in your way. It's a traditionally vertical society with strong moral codes, but the codes apply to the owners and managers as much as they do to the workers. And what about pay? A 2001 Business Week story reported that, while CEOs for the top U.S. companies made 531 times as much as their employees, Japan's top CEOs make ten times more than the employees, the lowest discrepancy of all the countries surveyed. And, perhaps the biggest paradox of all, Tokyo is a bustling city of over twelve million people, yet Reid felt comfortable allowing his ten-year-old girl to go with her ten-year-old friend—by train, by themselves—to Tokyo Disneyland for the day.

  As I read Reid's account, I became conscious of how important safety is to the introvert. I remembered going on a long walk while vacationing with my parents, returning happy and refreshed, only to be greeted by a lecture from mom and dad: I was a young woman, and it was dangerous for me to be walking alone in a strange place. I remember the lecture well, because my parents were not typically that protective; with ten kids, they had learned to trust our resilience. I also remember my refusal to take in what they were saying. That walk, beyond the boundaries of shared territory, elevated me to a timeless reality that I knew was good. How could this be ill-advised? My assumption of safety may have been naïve—though I
did return unscathed—but it was an assumption I did not want to give up. And, apparently, it's an assumption that is alive and well in Japan.

  In the way Norden attends to the mind, Japan attends to the spirit. The ancient and distinctly Japanese religion of Shintoism teaches that the divine spirit infuses all things, which may explain why all things are so honored in Japan, whether natural or material. The beauty and symmetry of nature are seen as reflections of the gods. The school of Buddhism called Zen—derived from the word "medita-tion"—became popular in Japan for its focus on spiritual practice rather than religious study. And, in Japan, life seems to be a meditation. Numerous practices, from sweeping the floor to writing calligraphy to serving tea, infuse the mundane with spiritual meaning and beauty.

  Now I realize that the Japanese values of restraint, harmony, and spiritual care had all contributed to my experience in the tea garden. But what cost do the Japanese people pay for this beauty, this reverence — for their "social miracle"? While violence against others is rare, violence against the self is a problem. Japan has one of the highest suicide rates among industrialized countries—a problem that the government is finally addressing through a ten-year suicide-reduction initiative. And, even with moves toward equality, Japanese women are still affected by longstanding prohibitions against their personal fulfillment, which are often summed up as the Three Obediences: "When she is young, she obeys her father; when she is married, she obeys her husband; when she is widowed, she obeys her son." And much media attention has focused on the hikikomori—young people, usually male, who shut themselves in their rooms for at least six months, and often years. These young men often feel overwhelmed by the pressure to succeed in such a performance-oriented society; some are rebelling over their limited career options, and many have been socially ostracized for sticking out. As the Japanese saying goes, "The nail that sticks out gets hammered in." A 2006 New York Times article noted one hikikomori who was bullied at school because his natural talent for baseball put him ahead of his hard-working teammates. The same boy would likely be a hero in the United States!