STALE AIR
Introverts are not afraid of being alone, because we know that solitude is generative. We prefer to take problems and work on them in isolation. We're not big on study groups or committees. And most of us do very well on our own. But, sometimes, staying closed off can become a burden and deprive us of fresh perspectives. Sometimes we need to unload, shake out the rugs, and let in some air.
If you pay attention, you can probably tell when the air inside is getting stale. You feel mentally stuck, bored with your own thinking, or overwhelmed by the intensity within. You're not having any fun. Ironically, these may be the very times you feel immobilized. The introvert preference for "figuring it out" keeps you locked inside. Writers know this experience: we torture over a sentence, writing and rewriting. Then, when we finally have the courage to leave the scene of the bad sentence and go for a walk, the right words pop into our minds.
Sometimes a Breath Retreat does the trick, but other times we need the fresh perspective of a new mind, a sounding board. Sometimes it's a relief to let someone else do the thinking as you rest your mind. And sometimes, talking does help—that is, if the other person knows how to listen. As you talk it through, your ideas become more tangible—as if projected onto a virtual reality screen, where you can move them around, sort them out and get to the "ah-ha!"
A related pitfall for introverts is "information deprivation." We can waste a lot of time going through mental contortions, searching for an answer when a quick question might be all that is needed. Because this option does not readily come to mind, the beauty of asking for help can be a startling revelation to the introvert. Though the Internet is a great resource, we can get stuck in our cyberspace searches as well. Sometimes there is no substitute for a live contact.
So how do we know when it's time to reach out? And when it's time, how do we leave that nice, cozy interior of solitude?
Try these strategies:
• Observe yourself. Just notice when solitude feels generative and when it feels confining. Do you want to be here, or are you just stuck in your thoughts? At the end of your day, note what worked and what didn't. Remember to be a kind observer.
• Do you actually need more solitude? Sometimes, even when we're alone, our surroundings—the phone, email messages, and clutter—distract us. If this is the case, you may need a retreat rather than a person. Close your mailbox, step away from the computer. It's hard, I know. Just. Walk. Away. Practice leaving the demands behind, even for five minutes. Get air.
• Other times, you may experience "introvert overload" and become either overwhelmed or bored with your own inner process. Maybe your head is cluttered because you have taken too much in and thrown too little out. Or, alternatively, your inner space has gotten a bit drab and could use some fresh furnishings. These are times when human contact helps. Share what you've got and bring in some new ideas.
• As we've discussed, sometimes we take in concerns that really belong to someone else. Sort out what is yours and what isn't. Clean your house: if it isn't yours, delegate it, throw it out of your mind, or give it back. Because introverts seem to have a lot of room, we can become storage facilities for the problems of others. You don't have to accept every delivery that arrives at your door.
• Sometimes it's refreshing to have someone else talk, to have a distraction from our own problems. If you're bored with your own company, ask somebody in your world to tell you what's new. Learn about something entirely new.
• Sleep on it. Anecdotal and experimental evidence support the wisdom of letting ideas simmer overnight. People who sleep on it seem to do better than those who toil away. If you're stuck, try calling it a night.
LOSS OF COMMUNITY
Because introverts often keep "one foot out" of the group, we can lose a sense of belonging—a sense that we are part of something. Like Van Gogh, you may have an idea of the kind of community you crave but have a hard time finding it. When I moved to West Virginia, I envisioned myself as part of a bohemian artists' community. As a wife and mother of school-aged boys, this may have seemed like a stretch—and it was. I needed to stretch beyond my immediate surroundings to find "my people." I was overly eager. I made mistakes and got hurt. But, ultimately I found my community by pursuing what I loved: writing, acting, art, coffeehouses. And my community evolves as I evolve.
For introverts, the best associations start with ideas. If you don't feel a part of your neighborhood association or the happy hour regulars after work, don't force it. The community that surrounds you may not be your community. Give yourself the gift of an outside world that represents you. Volunteer for a cause you care about. Post an online profile and find other people who love Elvis, quantum physics, and tennis. Audition for a play or audit a college course. Attend a workshop or a conference on something that fascinates you. Do what you love a little more publicly, and your people will come.
We like communities that are easy, where people welcome us without binding us. However, it is not always necessary to meet to feel the comfort of a community. We establish remote associations when we read, pray, or listen to music. And, as an introvert, you are automatically part of a very large community, though we aren't likely to set up any meetings.
As with Van Gogh, when your ideas hit the world, the plot thickens. You encounter disappointment and frustration—every good story has these elements. As long as you stay on your own side and keep your eyes open, learning as you go, the downside won't keep you down.
Chapter 15:
Showing Up for
Relationships
Oh, the comfort—the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person—having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all right out.
—Dinah Craik
For introverts, relationships create a paradox. We crave safe, comfortable, intimate, small-talk-free connections. But we also want ample time to ourselves, space of our own, and quiet. Some of us want a relationship at the center of our lives, and some of us want solitude at the center. Many of us want both.
How do we work this paradox? How do we maintain relationships—close relationships—and still have the alone time that sustains us? What happens if we marry? And what if we want kids?
We are culturally conditioned to want and seek out the relationship side of the paradox, but we get very little validation for the "alone time" part. I am married, very happily, and we have two boys that I couldn't wait to conceive and bring into our world. I am one of ten children, though, and I needed therapy to help me accept my scandalous wish to stop having children at two. I knew that I would shortchange the two we had if we added more. I was certain I would shortchange myself; I had reached my interpersonal maximum. Thankfully, I had the space of my analysis to sort this out and to contend with all my training to believe "the more the better." I have never looked back.
But if it was scandalous for me to stop at two, what about the many introverts who prefer not to have kids?What about those who prefer to stay single? In "America the extroverted," relationships are good, and even if they are very bad, they are better than no relationship. Introverts don't think this way. Many of us want and have great relationships, but we generally prefer "no relationship" to a bad one. Quality matters. We conserve our relationship resources, because we know they are limited. We probably see ourselves as having less to offer a relationship than we actually do; extroverts generally think they have more to offer. This is not because extroverts are arrogant, but because America is about quantity, and extroverts revel in quantity.
Q: How do you prefer to interact with people?
A: Short periods at a time, intense or not.
—J. C., artist
But when an introvert is self-aware enough to say "no" to a relationship that he is not willing to invest in, we assume he is afraid or selfish. When a woman says "no" to having babies, we assume she is selfish and "missing something." In these assumptions, we neglect what is often missing for the socially preoccupied
extrovert: the nourishment of the inner life.
While in my analysis, I had a series of dreams about babies. The repeating theme was: I had the baby, and then would forget her. Depending on the dream, I might have left her at the hospital or in her crib, or forgotten to feed her. I would suddenly remember my responsibility, then be horrified that I had forgotten. The other running theme in the dreams was that the baby was precocious: she would talk or walk almost immediately; she learned how to manage. I still feel the heartbreak of recognizing this baby who was forced to grow up without nourishment.
That baby, of course, was the neglected part of me: my introversion. Caring for the part of you that is not ready to talk, that part that is waiting for you to slow down and notice, is your responsibility. And we also have a responsibility to the people we choose to have in our lives. How do we attend to the life inside and our loved ones outside?
THE PROBLEM OF FAMILY
In America, the term "family values" has become a political and social rallying point. We don't really know what it means, but we know it's good—something we should have. Any spin on this theme tends to get swallowed without question: "Family comes first," "Family is the bedrock of society," blah, blah, blah.
Introverts are often very close to family members. We like the familiarity, the shared history, the opportunity to bypass small talk. But the "family comes first" idea is often foreign to introverts. We are wired to start inside: many of us couldn't start outside if we wanted to. We are centered inside, and we like it that way.
Family was at the center of my childhood home, and I knew that I was not a part of that center. I was loved—that wasn't it. I just didn't function that way. The physical structure of our home mirrored this reality. The living room was the "family room." This room was the gathering place, the center. I did not live in the living room. And I still don't. My husband, the extrovert, lives in the living room. I do more of my living in my room and visit the living room, as I did in my childhood home. The exception to this is when I have the house to myself: then the entire house is "my room." These days are sweet.
My impulse right now, from my cultural programming, is to explain how much I love my boys and my husband, but I really don't want to do that. I don't talk a whole lot about my family, because I don't talk a whole lot about people. When I'm with them, I'm really with them, but I don't tell everyone what they're doing, and I won't suffer "empty nest syndrome." My center will not be torn when my boys go off to college. I will miss them, but my relationship is less dependent on proximity. I hold them inside wherever they are.
It's different for my husband, the extrovert. He will be torn, and he knows it. His interactions with the boys, and with me, are at his center. He holds them inside too, but that's not his center. Let me illustrate with a conversation we had recently.
I'll use "E" for him, the extrovert, and "I" for me:
E: At dinner, you look like you can't wait to leave.
I: That's true; sitting at dinner is hard for me.
E: But it's dinner! The family meal. The time we are together! How could anything be more important?
I: It's not my thing.
E: It's the family meal. It's the thing!
I: Yes, for you it is. But who says it has to be the thing?
I like to respond to the kids when they're hungry. I'd just as soon feed them individually. I also prefer talking with them, and with you, individually. Is that not as valid?
We had been married twenty-four years, and this was the first time I said these words out loud—in the affirmative rather than in an apology. My husband, a passionate trial attorney, respected my argument. I actually like the fact that he rallies us for dinner, and I think there is a place for family rituals. But I don't share his desire, and it is freeing to say so. My individualized approach to meals has also benefited our boys: they only eat when they're hungry and eat only as much as they want. But that un-American concept is for another book.
INTROVERSION AND INTIMACY
Even though introverts are good at sustaining relationships internally, we need to inform and update our inside versions of loved ones. If we don't update, we might hold onto a fantasy, as Van Gogh did, or an earlier version of a person—something that happens in many marriages. In order to update, we need contact. When an introvert cares about someone, she also wants contact, not so much to keep up with the events of the other person's life, but to keep up with what's inside: the evolution of ideas, values, thoughts, and feelings.
When we live with someone, we can more easily move in and out of contact without too much planning. With a friend, keeping up is more of a challenge. I have two best friends, and I love being with each of them. Two of my sisters are also my intimate friends. I want time with each of these loved ones, but sometimes that desire ismore theoretical than practical. Because, when I'mfeeling low, I'mmore likely to seek out solitude instead of a friend. When I'm tired, I recharge through solitary activity. When I want to see a movie, I prefer to go alone.
Yet, the older I get, the more I value my friends, and by some miracle, I am a good friend to them. Here are the strategies behind the miracle:
• Schedule a standing date. This works great with a partner, child, or friend. Cindy and I have a standing lunch—a long lunch—every Wednesday. If one of us can't make it, we just cancel, but otherwise there is no need to set anything up. The regular time becomes a touchstone. We have moved it to after work at times when lunch isn't good, but we can count on seeing each other regularly. When I feel too much distance in any of my key relationships, I set up a date. This has worked well with my sons. I enjoy, as Anne Morrow Lindbergh wrote about in Gifts from the Sea, the "across the table" time with just one other person. Though I may be efficient at the family table, I linger at the table for two.
• Get away together. My husband and I try to match up short work excursions—he goes to court, I write. The drive time gives us leisurely time to talk, away from the distractions of family life, and we sometimes work in an overnight stay. I also have enjoyed retreating with one or two introverted friends: a mini monastic experience— though sometimes with tequila. We stay in a cabin in a natural setting and enjoy quiet time, some solitary, some shared, and very, very low-key. The ample space of the retreat allows us to move past the layers of daily concerns to the stuff we really care about.
• Email your updates. It often fits better into the flow of my day to send an email update to a friend than to call. Like many introverts, I am freer with my fingers than with my mouth anyway, so they get the real deal more quickly. When I vent via email, I show a crude side of myself that few people see.
• Get together for solitary activity. Beth and I do this: we meet at a coffeehouse to write or read, and intersperse conversation into the flow. I find this "alone together" time very soothing, and try to foster this atmosphere in our home. I think of Fred Pine, the child development theorist, who wrote about the importance of "quiet pleasure," or "low-keyed pleasure in nonthreatening doses" to the development of healthy children.
Ironically, introverts often crave more time with the key people in their lives. We need this time to allow the inner life of both self and other to emerge without force. Lindbergh captures this organic quality in her description of the "pure relationship":
The pure relationship, how beautiful it is! How easily it is damaged, or weighed down with irrelevancies—not even irrelevancies, just life itself, the accumulations of life and of time. For the first part of every relationship is pure, whether it be with friend or lover, husband or child. It is pure, simple, and unencumbered. It is like the artist's vision before he has to discipline it into form.
LOVING OUR EXTROVERTS
The scenarios I have been describing flow quite easily with another introvert. When the extrovert enters, as much as we love him or her, things get a bit more complicated—or a lot more complicated, depending on how much extroversion we are talking about.
Before we get to the "why can't we al
l be friends" part, I've gathered some complaints we, the introverts, need to get off our chests. So, here it is: The Introvert Power "Extroverts at their Most Annoying" Top 10 list:
10. When everything has to be a PARTY!
9. When E will not accept that you really want to leave the party.
8. When E calls too often, talks too much, and says too little.
7. When "E The Intruder" enters your space, uninvited, and handles your stuff.
6. When you go out together and E talks to the stranger sitting beside you.
5. When an E you don't know asks, "Are you okay?" just because you're quiet.
4. When E calls to respond to the email you sent because you didn't want to talk.
3. When E brings someone along to your "one on one"—as a surprise.
2. When E takes cell phone calls during your time alone.
1. When E assumes every silence is an invitation to TALK.
1. When E talks at length without a single pause.
1. When the above behavior requires you to interrupt in order to speak.
1. When you finally get to speak, and your words remind E of something else to share.
1. When E is oblivious to all attempts to end the conversation, including "goodbye" and walking away.
Okay, we had a few more than ten, and a few competitors for number one. But before my extroverted sisters and friends start calling me with complaints (when I'd really prefer they send an email), I will say that the socially oblivious extroverts do not represent the whole. As with introverts, social skills are independent of extroversion: some are skilled, some are not. The skilled ones know how to listen. But in contrast to socially unskilled introverts, who keep to themselves, socially unskilled extroverts insist on socializing.
Introvert Power Page 18