Introvert Power

by Laurie Helgoe

  —Karen

  CHANGING YOUR MIND

  As you assess your work situation, have the courage to, as I tenderly phrase it, "admit what sucks." If you feel like you're back in junior high, surrounded by gossip and social games, move on to adulthood and get a serious job. If you're being flooded with compliments in lieu of pay, take your skills seriously and find a place where value is rewarded with more than words. If you worked your butt off to get to where you are and where you are is disappointing, perhaps it's time to stop doing so much Imposed Work. Or perhaps it's time to move on. A good rule of thumb is that any environment that consistently leaves you feeling bad about who you are is the wrong environment. Have the courage to evaluate your job, to demand more from it, to put it on probation when it is failing you, and to terminate it when necessary. Dream job or no, you have a right to change your mind.

  As you admit what sucks, also note those times when your work excites you, when you feel in the zone and positively gleeful about what you're discovering and contributing. Introverts know these experiences because we delight in ideas, and we have the patience and focus to get to the good stuff. Because we work best independently, we can earn ourselves a great deal of freedom. Many of the introverts I corresponded with have found work situations that work:

  • I'm so comfortable in my current work setting where I have my own office, and sometimes most of the day can go by without me interacting with a co-worker.— Suzanne, paralegal for public defender team

  • Most of my sense of accomplishment comes from working with people in individual settings, by listening, advising, encouraging, helping. In the past, some people's personality styles would throw me off track or discourage me from engaging with them to find common ground. I can now meet each day's stress and chaos by applying well established (internalized) reasoning and negotiating tactics.—Phil, health and safety funding specialist

  • I am fortunate to have a private office so I can isolate myself and get on task.—Julie, hydrologist

  • I like my decorated cubicle world, love where the office is (third floor, away from tribal warfare on the second), love my boss. I love that I can walk down three flights and hit the street, just to stride, to see, to breathe fresh air and feel wind, rain, sunshine on my face.—Doug, editor and producer of online multimedia magazine

  • What I love about my work: It's got just the right mix of working alone and working with other people...I like meeting people by working with them and getting to know them that way. It's a lot less tiring to me than being at a party and having to make small talk with people you're never going to see again. Through work I've made many friends (and acquired a husband).—Ingrid, internal auditor for a large electric utility

  • I have a very private cube and a quiet general area, and I do like my immediate group...I love the mental challenge of work, [especially] when I get absorbed.—Karen, corporate real estate finance specialist

  IDEA, INC.

  Whether you work in a bustling office building or in a wilderness reserve, you were brought there by an idea. Perhaps, like Ingrid, the idea of mastering puzzles and fixing problems led the way. Or, like Doug, you looked for a vehicle for your evolving creative ideas. Like many of us, you might have had an idea about how you could help.

  As we get busy with the work, however, it's easy to forget the idea that started it all. Anchoring yourself in your idea is a great way to restore meaning to your work—or to find work that has meaning.

  Think back on books, television programs, or movies that inspired you, and read or watch them again. In 1980, the movie Ordinary People solidified my idea about becoming a therapist. I watched it again twenty years later and was surprised that its power had not diminished. And there was an added richness: I recognized myself in the story.

  As you dig up ideas from your past, you might learn something new about what you were looking for. You might read your own journal entries in a new way or notice a theme running through your sources of inspiration. In contrast to Ordinary People, I was also inspired by a more lighthearted source: psychologist Bob Hartley of The Bob Newhart Show. As I've revisited the sitcom, I saw my love of acting, comedy, and quirkiness added to the idea of becoming a psychologist.

  Another way to recharge your idea is to attend a conference or lecture on the topic. If you left a treasured idea behind when you started working, all the more reason to look into it. If old ideas no longer fit, notice how your thinking and values have evolved. You might even want to create a narrative or timeline of your evolving ideas.

  Respect your introversion and your ideas, and the power will come. Richard Florida, in his book, The Rise of the Creative Class, proposes that our society is moving toward a "knowledge-driven economy." The Internet doesn't require golf outings and schmoozing; we can connect through ideas—develop a business, teach a course, conduct research—at our own pace and from our own space. Ideas are becoming society's power centers, and introverts are natural generators.

  Perhaps we can begin to share ideas in place of "what we do." And our ideas can become what we do. Florida's book and others, like The Opt-Out Revolt by Lisa A. Mainiero and Sherry E. Sullivan and Free-Agent Nation by Daniel H. Pink, note that lifestyles are increasingly built around individuals and ideas rather than groups and organizations.

  Ideas are us. Introvert power can, if properly managed, efficiently advance every field of human endeavor, from science to business, education to politics. Leaders need only drop the scales from their eyes to produce more, much more, with the people they already employ.

  Chapter 14:

  The Downside to

  Self-Containment

  One may have a blazing hearth in one's soul, and yet no one ever comes to sit by it.

  —Vincent Van Gogh

  Houses have long been seen as symbols of the self. You bring into your house what you value. You decide what comes in and what you take out. You select what to put on the walls and in the rooms. But not only is the house a container; it is also a structure with particular features. A house may be vertically oriented, like a city townhouse, or horizontally expansive, like a one-story ranch home. The house may be mobile, or rooted in a deep foundation. Materials range from a stone or brick fortress to the polyester of a yurt.

  You probably drew houses as a child, whether spontaneously or for school, and you had a particular way of drawing them. What did they look like? I remember that the windows in my houses always had mullions and curtains—the tieback kind. Were there any special features you always included in your house? If you'd like, draw a house right now. Don't think about it. Just draw a house, and see what you come up with.

  If we think of the introvert as a house, he or she may have many windows but few entrances. The home's style is highly personal. There may be, as Van Gogh put it, a "blazing hearth" inside, burning with insight and creativity. The décor may be utilitarian and minimalist—emphasizing key values or practical considerations—or it may be filled with collected treasures. The upper floor might house libraries or laboratories, simmering and bubbling with ideas. When we talk of "what's going on upstairs," we are using the house metaphor.

  Though entrances for people are usually closed, and sometimes locked, your house may be open to other life sources. The top floor might have an entrance to worlds beyond—the realms of spirit or fantasy. The ground floor might be the womb of nature, dirt as flooring and living trees as beams. Your home may have a level descending deep into the earth, a place of psychological or historical excavation.

  The introvert loves exploring this space, and here finds entertainment and resources for living. While selected people have the code to get in, many others are curious about the home but don't have access. Directions to the house may be complicated and obscure.

  THE LONELY HEARTH

  So what's wrong with this picture? Our interiors are comfortable, interesting, and protected from intruders. My muse for answering this question is a risky choice: Vincent Van Gogh. He is r
isky because he was mentally ill—posthumously diagnosed with bipolar disorder and, as we've discussed, introversion is a normal personality dimension. But I remember an important lesson from my graduate training: every mental disorder is only an extreme of the human condition. If you want to understand human vulnerability, study mental illness.

  And if you want to know the extreme "poles" of introversion, study Van Gogh. The artist's inner fire lit up his canvases with brilliant color, texture, and feeling. But he longed to share his gifts with a companion, to bring someone in who would not be threatened, but warmed, by his fire.

  Van Gogh was an introvert with an amazing interior, an interior that was the best of him but eventually got the best of him. It is interesting to note that he found an old house in the south of France, transforming it into what would be known as the Yellow House—the space that would become the seat of his dreams. In a fascinating book, aptly named The Yellow House, art critic Martin Gayford describes Van Gogh's color scheme:

  The outside walls were the fresh, almost edible color of butter. The shutters were vivid green, the door inside a soothing blue. There, in and on the house, were the major notes in the color scale—yellow, green, blue, and the rich red of the studio floor.

  Gayford, who chronicles Van Gogh's story in astonishing detail, also notes that the primary decorative feature in the house was his collection of paintings, generously adorning the walls of every room. In addition to painting the house, he painted paintings of the house and of some of the rooms. The yellow house was art.

  Like Van Gogh, we want our best to be seen. Most of us have had the experience of creating beauty, whether by cleaning a room, planting a bed of flowers or hanging a painting. Our first impulse is to say, "Come and see! Look what I did!" Though it may be a long time since mom or dad came to see, we still have the need to share—to be seen, acknowledged, appreciated. But it's more than approval we seek; we want to extend the joy. We want someone to help us make it more real, to linger with us in the warmth.

  We are wise to be selective about whom we let in. But it is also good to find worthy guests.

  A LIMITED VIEW Van Gogh had taken Paul Gauguin

  Van Gogh had taken Paul Gauguin into his imagination long before they shared an actual house. Van Gogh admired Gauguin: Here was a real poet. Gauguin would be a friend who could appreciate Van Gogh's fire. They would have a studio together and build a sort of monastic community of artists. In the house of Van Gogh's mind, they were aspiring to something great.

  As humans, we have the ability to hold relationships and conversations inside, and this capacity helps us work through conflicts, tolerate separations, fall in love, and remember. In fact, imagining a prototype of the person you want in your life can help you find a desirable partner. The stronger your desire, the more likely you will "go for it" and meet someone who matches your criteria.

  Van Gogh had a highly developed imagination, and was bold in pursuing the man he was sure would fulfill his vision. He even prepared a room for Gauguin in the yellow house. His vision would become reality.

  There was only one problem with Van Gogh's vision: Gauguin. The chosen collaborator was very reluctant to move to the studio, and only gave in after a financial incentive sweetened the deal. Though the collaboration was artistically fruitful, the relationship was a disaster.

  What is sad to me is that Van Gogh had a beautiful vision. He was just unable to see enough of what was happening outside to realize that Gauguin was not a good match. At the extreme, this unwillingness to modify fantasy becomes a schizoid defense. The idea is, "by keeping people inside, in fantasy, I can stay in control and can't be hurt"—though this reasoning is not conscious. Van Gogh did risk a real relationship with the real Gauguin, and was hurt—irreparably. After only nine weeks, Gauguin reluctantly shared his plan to leave and the already unstable Van Gogh unraveled. That night, the visionary marked his descent into madness by cutting off his left ear.

  I think Van Gogh is such a sympathetic character because we know what it feels like to invest in someone who does not or cannot reciprocate. The vision or idea of the relationship can be very powerful, and has a magnetism of its own. These are the visions that seduce lovers and break down defenses. But, if not checked by reality, even the most beautiful idea can break down and break hearts.

  It is easy to forget that our inner representations of people are always limited. And, even when we look out of the house called the Self, we can get the wrong impression through our windows. Let's say a friend walks by with a scowl on her face. Then you go up to your imagination library and tell yourself a story about why she's mad. In your mind, you overhear her saying all kinds of bad things about you. By the time the real friend stops over, you're the one who is mad.

  If you had asked her, you might have found out that she had just gotten fired and was deep into her thoughts about it. She didn't even see you. Though everyone fills in blanks about other people, introverts are particularly vulnerable to this. Because we limit our interactions, we may miss opportunities for "reality testing," or checking our perceptions with the source.

  Beyond the problem of Van Gogh's choice is perhaps a larger question: Was the artist's unwillingness to compromise inseparable from the fire that created such otherworldly beauty? As he prepared and lived in the Yellow House, Van Gogh completed over two hundred paintings, including the Sunflowers paintings and The Café Terrace at Night. Van Gogh's own words suggest that he had some awareness of the price of his passion: "It is better to be high-spirited even though one makes mistakes, than to be narrow-minded and all too prudent."

  Though the question I pose can never really be answered, and Van Gogh's illness no doubt made him more vulnerable, the artist's legacy provides valuable insight into the risks of self-contained fantasy. Perhaps the lesson is to be "high-spirited" or high-minded in preparing the house, but more prudent when deciding whom to invite in. Or maybe we'll "go for it," but with eyes wide open, knowing that some mistakes are worth it. Then hopefully, after dusting ourselves off, we'll get up and risk making more worthy mistakes. Whatever we do, we can be more conscious. And with the tool of choice, our power will not only be in the vision. We can have our vision and reality too.

  SELF-REPROACH

  Introverts tend to internalize problems. In other words, we place the source of problems within and blame ourselves. Though introverts may also externalize and see others as the problem, it's more convenient to keep the problem "in house." Internalizers tend to be reliable and responsible, but we can also be very hard on ourselves. And we can be wrong about ourselves. Van Gogh would not have been an easy person to live with—when manic, he was prone to verbosity and could become redundant and annoying. He was a slob and a bad cook. But Gauguin wasn't a cup of tea either—he was known to be arrogant, self-absorbed, and grandiose.

  With all of Gauguin's complaints about Van Gogh, the latter artist seemed blind to his colleague's limitations. Even as Gauguin was walking out the door, Van Gogh felt he was losing someone he desperately needed. And Van Gogh blamed himself.

  As an introvert, you can be your own best friend or your worst enemy. The good news is we generally like our own company, a quality that extroverts often envy. We find comfort in solitude and know how to soothe ourselves. Even our willingness to look at ourselves critically is often helpful.

  But, we can go too far. We can hoard responsibility and overlook the role others play. We can kick ourselves when we're down. How many times have you felt lousy about something, only to get mad at yourself for feeling lousy?

  As a therapist, I see this tendency in extroverts as well as introverts, but extroverts are more likely to seek out reassurance from others. And introverts are more likely to use internalization as a convenience: if we keep things in-house, we don't have to involve extroverts.

  It is helpful for introverts to remember that we can keep things inside and still recognize what's outside. An introvert playing the Van Gogh role in a relationship can choose to
face facts and, rather than turning on himself, can just let the other person go—preferably before that person moves in. Here are other ways to stay on your own side:

  • First, notice how you talk to yourself. It can be very helpful to write down an inner conversation, especially one that includes a stream of judgment and criticism. You can also use feelings as a cue: if you are feeling "beat up"—depressed mood, low energy—see if you are beating yourself up. What are you telling yourself?

  • Stop the destructive conversation, and "call out" the hurtful message. When I catch myself, I might just say, "That's mean!" and start over, addressing myself more kindly. In an approach called narrative therapy, problems are purposely externalized to allow for these confrontations. For example, if it's Guilt that goes after you, you talk back to Guilt. If it's Fear, you'll give Fear a piece of your mind. I worked with a musician who learned to tell Pressure to back off so he could enjoy his performances.

  • When we criticize ourselves, we often disown aspects of ourselves that we value. Try changing your criticism into an affirmative statement. For example, "I'm too sensitive" is critical, but "I'm sensitive" is neutral. You are stating and accepting the truth as you see it. Where "too sensitive" imposes an external criterion, "sensitive" stands alone. You are in the center.

  • Practice being kind to yourself. Lovingly observe your way of being in the world. See the wisdom in your pace, your manner, and your choices—even the bad choices. It's fine to want to change some things, but change is easier from a position of acceptance. Treat yourself with respect.

  • Give others credit for their part in problems. You don't have to confront everyone who makes a mistake, but it helps to be clear about the location of the problem. Sometimes we just need to let the other person wrestle with it.