If you do not have a room that is yours alone, it's time to create such a space. You may have an office that you use more than other family members—this may work. Or perhaps you have a room that is just being used for storage. If you're only using a room a couple times a year—i.e., guest room or dining room—consider taking it over. Depending on your climate, a screened-in porch or conservatory may work. Of course, you'll want to talk with other family members about what you're doing, but do so only after you're convinced that this is a great idea. Believe me, it is.
A room of your own provides "the still point of the turning world," to use T. S. Eliot's imagery. It's a place, like the kid's room, that you know is there for you. It's a place for the items that have meaning only to you. As you look around at your things, your priorities, you become more of who you are. Your room becomes your mirror.
Even if your space is too limited right now, mapping out your room on paper will set the course toward that reality. Years ago, I created a "Discovery Journal," a bound artist's book that I filled with collages, an idea provided by Sarah Breathnach in her wonderful book, Simple Abundance. The idea is to cut out images you are drawn to (even if you don't know why you are drawn to them), arrange them on a blank page, and glue them down. I found myself collecting pictures of rooms, interior décor and, repeatedly, colored tile. A series of events had us moving across country and in a position to build a house of our own design. I pulled out my Discovery Journal, and my house was in there! I even brought the journal to a tile supplier and used it as a design guide. My dream became a reality.
Years later, when we moved to our current, older home, I claimed the small den with large windows and a built-in bookcase. I was excited that there was a closet in the room with built-in drawers. The plaster on the walls was cracked in places, which provided me a great opportunity: I started a collage! At the time of this writing, I have half a wall completely covered in images of what I love. My mirror.
So, whatever it is you dream up, as Goethe said, "begin it."
SPECIFICATIONS FOR INGRID 'S ROOM:
I'd like my room to be most of all quiet. Ideally a screened-in porch on a nice day is perfect (again, as long as it's quiet). I'd like a comfortable sofa to sit/lie on and lots of reading material (preferably a combination of magazines, books, and newspapers), plus a pencil and eraser and semi-complicated crossword puzzles. Finally, I'd like a quiet companion, however, only the nonspeaking kind. My dog would fulfill that role.
ROOM OUTSIDE
For many introverts, there is no better shelter than the one provided by nature: the endless sky above; the trees, mountains or infinite horizon all around; the good, solid earth under foot. Finding a private space outside is harder for some of us than for others. Some of us have a semi-private backyard, others have vast woods out back, and still others have only small or shared patches of green in the midst of concrete.
A neighbor of mine recently called me over to show me a "room" she had built along the shady side of her cottage-sized house. As I entered the space, I felt the boundaries of her room, even though there were no walls enclosing it. She had used tree stump slabs and tiny white rocks to construct a path leading in; an arbor set between a tree and the house to form the doorway; a bench, easel, and small table made up the furniture; and candles on the ground provided mood lighting. Her paints, notebook, and pen were waiting for her on the bench.
The beauty of an outdoor room is that it offers both privacy and expansiveness—the trees around and the sky above. Creating and caring for a private outdoor space can provide a Zen-like sense of calm. When I was little, my sister and I created a playhouse in the woods by raking little clearings between the trees and designating them as rooms. We made hallways between the rooms, and even planted a little garden outside. For furnishings, we scavenged the junk pile nearby, which provided an endless supply of treasures. As I looked back, there was something in the raking itself—in the founding of my own space in nature—that gave me immense pleasure. I think of Thoreau and the joy he found in setting up his house in the natural habitat of Walden Pond.
There is a vast difference between the quiet pleasure of tending a private space and the pressure of outdoor work that only improves the view for our neighbors. Both are valid, and an attractive yard is indeed a gift to the neighborhood, but I feel a certain sadness when I pass by a manicured lawn that I know will not enjoy the dance of bare feet. Like the good china, it is not to be touched.
SPECIFICATIONS FOR BETH'S ROOM:
• Surrounded by nature, not walls
• A rock overlooking an expanse of mountains that fall into the ocean
• Ancient, wise conifer trees forming a half circle around me
• The smell of the sea and pine needles
• The sound of a stream winding down the slope into the ocean and birds singing, calling to one another
• The feel of the earth beneath me
• Sandy soil that I can run through my fingers
• The knowledge that life surrounds me—life that began before me and will continue after I am gone
What defines an outdoor room may be very simple: a bistro table and chair where you sit with your coffee and read, a fire pit in the backyard that allows you warmth at night, a rooftop in the city that renders people and cars smaller and the sky bigger. And nature provides many dwelling places—from the natural rock furniture on top of a hill to the walls of tall grass that encircle you when you lay in a meadow.
Just as Jung discovered treasures deep in the unconscious, Emerson found "wild delight" as he lingered in nature. As many solitary explorers have discovered, nature seems to hear and understand, to provide an empathy beyond the capacity of humans. Emerson captures this empathic response in his writings:
If a man would be alone, let him look at the stars... The stars awaken a certain reverence, because though always present, they are inaccessible; but all natural objects make a kindred impression, when the mind is open to their influence... The greatest delight, which the fields and woods minister, is the suggestion of an occult relation between man and the vegetable. I am not alone and unacknowledged. They nod to me, and I to them. The waving of the boughs in the storm, is new to me and old...Nature always wears the colors of the spirit.
OFFICE SPACE
"Office space" is somewhat of an oxymoron these days. Office Space (1999) is also a hilarious movie. The following lines between the characters played by Jennifer Aniston and Ron Livingston reflect the contempt employees feel for the cubicle culture of today's office:
Peter: I uh, I don't like my job, and, uh, I don't think I'm gonna go anymore.
Joanna: You're just not gonna go?
Peter: Yeah.
Joanna: Won't you get fired?
Peter: I don't know, but I really don't like it, and, uh, I'm not gonna go.
I would imagine most introverts have fantasized about doing what Peter did—and some have pulled it off. But dropping out is not a viable option for most of us, and many of us spend at least part of our time at an office—without an office. The office of today has banished private space in favor of freestanding modules cluttering massive rooms: the dreaded cubicle.
In an article for Fortune (March 22, 2006), Julie Schlosser reviewed how cubicles were faring thirty years after Robert Propst released his prototype for the enclosure. The article, "Cubicles: The great mistake," noted that Propst, like inventors of tools used in warfare, despised the office culture that grew out of his contribution. Schlosser compared the cubicle to crabgrass that persists in growing despite its lack of popularity:
Reviled by workers, demonized by designers, disowned by its very creator, it still claims the largest share of office furniture sales—$3 billion or so a year—and has outlived every "office of the future" meant to replace it. It is the Fidel Castro of office furniture.
Office-less office employees, retail personnel, nurses, and administrative staff—to mention only a few—spend a great deal of their da
y within easy reach of others. Even those of us who have the luxury of a door often feel pressure to keep it open.
What kind of room do you have at work? Mentally go to that place, sit or stand wherever you sit or stand, and look around. What is your view? What feelings do you have as you look around? How well can you think in this space?
Now exit reality and imagine your ideal workspace. Don't think about your real job or even your profession for the moment. Just think about the kind of space you would love to work in—your workspace. As we did for your room, consider size, the view, the lighting, and what you want inside. I'll put in another bookmark so you can go off and do your thinking. You may want to jump back to the first bookmark and use the questions there to get you going.
This is where you left off while getting your supplies.
If you are resisting this exercise, protesting that you have no choice about your work setting, I'll say what I say to my clients: "You have a choice about whether to like it." And introverts, in particular, have been told for too long to like it—from the team meetings to the happy hour after work. I'm not suggesting we start whining and feeling depressed about our work setting; we may already be doing both. What I am suggesting is that we do what we do best: seek inner clarity. As you compare your ideal and real work settings, you will start to get that clarity.
Whining is an indication of powerlessness, as when the child whines about going to school. Inner clarity is a source of power: the clearer you are about what you want, the more prepared you are to act when the time is ripe. And the time may be ripe now.
James Meyer, who specializes in placing IT (Information Technology) professionals, saw the loss of identity that came with the cubicle culture, and has helped to usher in an increasingly popular option: telecommuting—commuting to work via computer. Working at home has become a standard part of the contracts Meyer negotiates for these highly skilled professionals. "They're much happier," says Meyer, who also works at home, "only now they complain about coming in for a staff meeting."
But IT specialists aren't the only employees working from home, also referred to as teleworking. Here's an idea that environmentalists and conservative policymakers can agree on. In addition to saving energy and reducing pollution, spreading out work is being promoted as a solution to terrorism—take that Osama! A 2007 survey by CDW Corporation reported that forty-four percent of Federal employees now have the option to telework. And, as Meyer observed, telecommuters are happier employees. Results of a 2006 survey by Money magazine and Salary.com, reported by Rob Kelley for CNNMoney.com, revealed that satisfied workers had the most work-from-home options and "the most stressed workers were also least able to telecommute, with only a third saying it was an option for them at work." The report also found that flexibility in hours and ease of getting time off made for happier employees. And these happier employees weren't slackers: the most satisfied employees actually worked eleven hours more per week than the least satisfied group!
The brain is a wonderful organ. It starts working the moment you get up in the morning and does not stop until you get into the office.
—Robert Frost
Schlosser's piece in Fortune also discussed the telecommuting trend, as well as the office located in a "third space"—usually a quiet coffeehouse. The home office and third space alternatives were envisioned by the sixties' revolutionary Stewart Brand, author of The Whole Earth Catalog, who has worked out of a converted shipping container as well as a beached fishing boat.
Even if the time is not ripe for you to claim your own office space, here are some ways you can bring a sense of "mine" to the space you have:
• Take your breaks! When the clock says it's time for your break or for lunch, get out. Start a list of places you can go to reenergize. A client of mine lamented giving up smoking because she missed the "smoke breaks." Think of introvert time-outs as breathing breaks. If your break isn't long enough to allow a complete retreat, have a book or journal handy—both send the message, "I want to be alone."
• Work unconventional hours. If you can flex, try working earlier or later than your colleagues. Working a weekend day in exchange for a workday can be a refreshing switch: an empty office on the weekend, and a quieter world on a weekday.
• Claim the space you have. Bring in an item from your room at home, something quirky that only you could think of. Clear clutter. Every so often, close your eyes and breathe. Let your body language communicate, "I'm working."
• Find alternative space AT the office. Retreat to a spare conference room to work on a project. Volunteer to make a run to the post office, library, or storage facility and savor the time in your car. In the sitcom Scrubs, medical interns used the supply closet as a hideout when they needed to have a panic attack or a good cry. If you seek private space, you are much more likely to find it.
Regardless of where you roam in the course of your day, don't forget to take your mind with you—the ultimate private space. Practice being honest with yourself. Make note of what you like and don't like, what feels right and what feels wrong. Give mental space to your desires. Seek clarity. Make revisions as needed. And be very, very kind to yourself. Your space will expand. I promise.
Chapter 7:
The Time to Think
Men fear thought as they fear nothing else on earth, more than ruin, more even than death. Thought is subversive and revolutionary, destructive and terrible; thought is merciless to privilege, established institutions, and comfortable habit. Thought looks into the pit of hell and is not afraid.
—Bertrand Russell
You have your day scheduled out, given over to the expectations of others. You brace yourself for what's ahead. Then you get a call. The day is cancelled; everyone who needed you is down with a three-day virus.
Is there anything more delicious? You know what I'm talking about. We don't like others to be sick, but we love others to cancel. We become giddy at the prospect of "found" time—time without plans or expectations. Time to think. Time between time.
Why is it so hard to plan this kind of time? We take a day off and then feel guilty that we're not getting enough done or not having enough fun — or both. Found time is a gift; planned time becomes a demand, which, paradoxically, is not time at all. I return again to Whitman's Song of the Open Road and imagine him looking in every direction and inhaling "great draughts of space." What if we could not only experience such space but also inhale great draughts of time?
For an introvert, ample time would provide a cushion around activity—the mental space we need to reflect, to make meaning, to find inspiration. There would be lots of "time between time," and introverts would thrive.
This option is not just available in fantasy or in the introvert's version of heaven. Just as we can reclaim our space, we can indulge in time. First, let's look at what we're up against.
TIME POVERTY
In America, time has become a commodity, and a scarce one at that. We invent more and more ways of saving time, only to find even more ways to spend it. When we say that "time is money," we make time a product—and produce, we must! When we say that "time is money," we really mean that money is more important than time: that time has value to the extent that it is redeemable in money. The introvert mode of thinking first is not valued, because the thinking time is not a tangible product. Even if the thinking time is on its way to being a tangible product, we believe time is scarce, so we can't afford much of that kind of time. Those who think on their feet, or simply use their feet and their mouths, seem to be making good on the time-money trade. In our American "just do it" society, doing takes the lead over knowing. Value is associated with what you produce, what you show to the world. And, like cheap talk, credit cards allow us to show much, much more—whether or not we have anything real to back it.
Likewise, our technology allows us to do much, much more—whether or not we have the knowledge to back it. But just as the credit card sucks away the borrower's cash and freedom, excessive do
ing leaves the mind vacant, clueless, and increasingly dependent on, well, "doing." We sit down to think, we become anxious, we pop up again and get busy to restore the feeling that we're going somewhere. We have no idea where, but at least we're going there.
To achieve, you need thought. You have to know what you are doing and that's real power.
—Ayn Rand
THE TICKING BOMB MODEL
Introverts have a hard time keeping up, and this may be our salvation—and society's salvation. Introverts shut down when there's too much stimulation. We don't have much choice. A red light flashes, "OVERLOAD," and we know it's time to pull back and think. The only problem is, we don't have time. Or at least that's what we're told.
We have built an entire mythology around the idea that there is no time, using phrases like "running out of time" without thought. Do we really run out of time? Or do we run time out? And who thought of the term "deadline"? Are we really supposed to be motivated by fear, by the idea that there is not enough, by poverty? When I published my first book and we were doing my final revisions, I was floored when the editor nonchalantly informed me of the "drop dead date"—the date when everything, absolutely, had to be in. This was a real industry term! But the associations between unproductive time and death don't stop there. Stop to reflect, and you are "killing time." Such violent language is enough to make anyone anxious!
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