When we allow the natural specialty of introversion to lead, we not only expand our power, we experience fulfillment and satisfaction. Once satisfied, once we master the art of introversion, we might want to see what else is out there.
MEETING YOUR OPPOSITE
According to Jung's theory, the flow to the other side usually occurs in midlife—hence, the midlife crisis. By midlife, we feel established enough to get bored. We start to wonder what we've missed along the way. That nucleus of extroversion wants to have a go. We long for more than a specialty; we want to be whole.
In midlife, we begin to discover the opposites within. So, the story goes, the responsible family man buys a red sports car, and the conservative career woman takes up belly dancing. While this kind of response seems cliché, there is usually more going on. I work with a man who has handled his finances impeccably all of his life. He didn't make the mistakes most of us do, like stacking up credit card debt or forgetting to save and invest. He has achieved that enviable position of knowing that he and his wife will be fine, financially, whatever happens.
But this man does have a problem. He deeply resents people who squander money, who put entitlement before earning, who spend first and pay later. I told him one day: "You both have half of it figured out. The spenders have no money but know how to enjoy it. You have money but don't know how to enjoy it." When he realized that he could learn from, rather than resent, his opposite, his attitude changed.
LEARNING FROM OUR EXTROVERTS
According to Jung, we are attracted to the people we need in order to grow. These people hold parts of ourselves we are not yet ready to integrate. This works well, because an introvert's "dirty work" is often an extrovert's pleasure, and vise versa. My husband negotiates with salespeople, and actually enjoys the challenge. He helps me get around in the external world; he is my protector and advocate. I help him negotiate the inner world, providing safety through emotional storms. When I went through analysis, we both gained insight. When he bought a red Miata, I discovered "Miata therapy."
There is great wisdom in attraction. When you feel it, you want to be around the object of your attraction as much as possible. When both of you feel it, you touch heaven—you touch wholeness. You both feel lottery. And in a way, you have.
Whatever you love, you are.
—Rumi
In the other person, you recognize a quality you long for, but you just can't embody, at least right now. You don't know you have it, of course, but you do. My client did not see the spender in him, but he'd been saving for that part of himself for years. It is good, in a way, that he did not recognize the spender in him for awhile. Instead, he fell in love with a woman from a family of spenders, and they held that part of him. By putting the inner spender aside, he was better able to accomplish his goals. Yet, it would be tragic for him to deprive himself of enjoying what he had so faithfully saved. When I alerted him to the fact that his money, still unspent after his death, would likely go to people who did not earn it, he agreed and became angry at the injustice of this outcome. He said to me, "Now that's a good argument for spending it myself." He knew that, even after he and his wife were accounted for, there was a lot left to enjoy—or pass on. With no children, he was pretty sure any leftovers would go to the lazy in-laws that he complained about.
I had a similar wake up call as I approached forty. As a child, I received a lot of attention for my looks, and it wasn't always the good kind. I began to associate being "cute" with being dismissed, not taken seriously, with being unintelligent. So I downplayed my looks, determined to prove that I was smart. I got good grades, went to college, then graduate school, and developed a reputation for my smarts. At the age of thirty-nine, I fell forward on ice so quickly that my face broke my fall. And I broke my face, about five bones, and I still have tiny plates and screws in my skull from the reconstruction.
I was lucky. My facial tissue was intact, and the plastic surgeon masterfully repaired the breaks. Like my client, I realized that I did care about what I had downplayed—my face, my exterior. I also realized that my appearance was fleeting and vulnerable: could I afford a little vanity, a little enjoyment of this gift? The answer was a bold "yes!"
So, in a completely uncharacteristic move, on my fortieth birthday, I decided to give modeling a try. In addition to my newfound appreciation of my exterior, I was becoming bored by depth, tired of analysis, and the prospect of attending to the surface sounded refreshing. I changed my diet, intensified my workouts, and started paying more attention to fashion. And I got some work, modeling for locally shot commercials and print ads. I'll never forget a photo shoot where my job was to wear pajamas, lie in a bed, and sleep in various positions. I couldn't believe I was being paid for this! My sisters were concerned that this feminist who often shunned makeup had lost it. But I was actually finding a piece of myself that I had pushed away.
Most everything you detest in others will come back and kick you in the butt—if you're lucky. It is good to define yourself, and it is good to know when it's time to break out of the definition and get bigger.
But it's much easier when love kicks us in the butt. Desire bridges the gap between what we are and what we can become. The extroverts you love carry the sort of extroversion you want. My client's wife was not a spendthrift; she was generous, and my client admired this quality. Don't worry, you won't become that extrovert, nor will he or she become you. You will take back the projections of some of these qualities, and you'll leave others for the extrovert to cover.
Here's an example: My extroverted husband loves to argue. I was terrified of arguing as a young person: I was the good child, the good student, blah, blah, blah. But I really wanted to feel safe enough to be "bad"—to talk back, argue, show my edges. I married a man with very sharp edges. He loves to argue, he's okay with making other people uncomfortable, and he trusts the adversarial process—a born lawyer. I wanted to have that trust: I envied friendships I saw in the movies who could fight openly and get to a new level of understanding.
I was extremely attracted to my husband's edges. I saw a part of me I couldn't pull off, yet, and I wanted him around to do it for me. None of this was conscious, of course. I just wanted him. He carried my projected edges for a long time. But I've been taking back the projection, bit by bit. I still have no interest in arguing with salespeople—though I have surprised myself on occasion—but I love a good fight with my husband.
Lord, grant that I may always desire more than I can accomplish.
—Michelangelo
ORGANIC EXPANSION
The model of organic growth provides some helpful tips on how to expand. We do best when we start where we're comfortable, when the soil of introversion is well tended and fertile. Rather than using unnatural means to speed our growth, we draw on the elements that come to us in season and over time. Let's look at some examples:
• Really indulge in introversion, and you're likely to crave a little extra—extroversion, that is. You'll experience that movement of yin into yang. Consider, for example, traveling by yourself, far away from familiar faces, others divinely indifferent to you. Chances are you'll eventually find yourself open to and even initiating exchanges with strangers. Because contact is optional, it flows out of you—it's natural, easy, and probably quite pleasurable.
• Do it for love, when you can. I've shared the example of sticking out a party for my friend. I used introverted survival techniques to refuel, and I learned I could endure my worst version of a party and even learn some things. When your desire leads you to give in this way, the loss of ego can be freeing. As I watched the hours tick away, I started to enjoy the submission. And the night gave back: the after party turned out to be just my friend, her dance partner, and me in an intimate club. We had the chance to talk, sip Godiva martinis, and listen to a singer who was a convincing incarnation of Frank Sinatra. I was even inspired to dance. I witnessed extroversion expand and then flow into introversion.
• Ignor
e "should"; follow "want." The word "should" is a good indication that somebody else's standards are involved. "Want" is within you, and is the seed of change. To know what kind of extroversion you want to add to your repertoire, look to extroverts, real or fictional, that you admire or find attractive. If you want to know your future potential, desire is better than a crystal ball.
• As the Buddha put it, "believe nothing." Introversion does not fully describe you, nor does any category. The road to healthy psychology is to get an identity then lose it. Then get another identity and lose that one. Seek truth and live by it.
• Know when you're stuck. Boredom is a clue. Addiction is a clue. Low energy is a big clue. Real desire promotes flow and expands you. Fear, sometimes masked as desire, constricts. You may feel compelled to stay locked behind your computer even though you are miserable there and all life has been sucked out of the activity. This is not desire; this is avoidance, a response to fear.
• When you're afraid of change, give birth a chance. In our society, change is scary. The American Way is exemplified by an impossible metaphor: "pull yourself up by your bootstraps." This "just do it" mentality is unnatural. Holding, growing, and birthing your way to change—nature's way and the introvert's way—seems to be catching on, however. A six-stage model of change, identified by researchers Prochaska, Norcross, and DiClemente, has begun to be used in a broad range of settings, from smoking cessation programs to sunscreen use campaigns. The research shows that successful change starts inside, where the first three stages take place: pre-contemplation, contemplation and preparation. So if you want to get "out there," you do better when you build up your desire internally first. It's easier and it works better. So, don't just do something, stand there awhile first!
EXTROVERTING FOR ENERGY
Although introverts typically go in for energy, there is another kind of energy that comes when "in"meets "out," when yinmeets yang. The release of this energy, called Qi or Chi in the Taoist tradition, underpins Jung's theory of introversion-extroversion. According to Jung, integrating opposites within the personality not only brings a person closer to wholeness, but frees up life energy. The more a person is able to tolerate paradox in search of truth, the less energy will be spent defending a rigid position.
Imagine a world without extroversion. It would be nice and quiet. We'd all have a lot of room. Life would move more slowly so that each introvert had a chance to speak without interruption, and to think before talking or acting. We wouldn't have downtowns or elections or contact sports. No one would ask how you're doing, only what you're thinking. Sound like paradise? Maybe, until you imagine this state of affairs lasting for weeks and months and years and decades. Something essential would be missing.
We may find it easier to imagine a world without introverts, because sometimes our world feels that way. We compete, we talk a lot, we have parties. But our world is also infused with introvert energy. Without introversion, we would have no books and no readers, no philosophies, theologies, or dreams. There would be sun with no shadows, day without night. Something essential would be missing.
The something essential is life energy—that intangible spark emerging from paradox, the conflict that forces a higher-level solution, the chemistry that allows male and female to join and make a third, and the integrity that allows introvert and extrovert to coexist and make a better world.
THE PARADOX OF THE PIT
The mosh pit seems an apt metaphor of our extroverted, capitalistic society, with dancers body-to-body, slamming and pushing. But this chaotic scene can be viewed differently. Here is Ben's description:
[It's] like a tribal dance. It's not about hurting each other, too much. If you push someone over, you help them back up. There is no winner, everyone flows together, kind of like a swarm of insects. It gets you back to your primitive nature.
At first glace, the mosh pit is capitalism on crack. People are pushing their way to the front, stomping down the competition if need be. Within the mob, a circular vortex forms, and moshers slam dance inside. Because of the risks associated with moshing, Tom Berger requires users of his online instruction book, In the Pit, to indicate that they have read the following warning: "The only way to ensure one's safety at a general admission event is NOT TO ATTEND THE EVENT!" Though people typically come out exhilarated but intact, injuries do occur, and even deaths have been reported. But for introverted devotees, the pit is not about violence: it is a place to let go, to relinquish ego, and to meld with the mob. Everyone is welcome. People compete, but also cooperate. James Cook, in his online essay "Zen and the Art of the Mosh Pit," captures the paradoxical nature of the pit:
To look upon the mosh pit for the first time is an affront to the senses... Without any regard for the music, a large crowd shifts and swirls in front of a stage. Bodies move to and fro amidst random acts of self-sacrifice and enigmatic grace.
Cook's description of moshing captures the way competition flows into meditation. The pit mixes it all up: danger and altruism, aggression and unity. Everyone's dual energy is exposed: they knock down; they pick up. Jung would have liked the metaphor: opposites colliding at every level and generating energy. With the higher-level perspective of introversion, the chaos becomes a pattern, a shared energy.
As with the pit, smashing into your opposite is risky. But is it indeed easier to stay on your side, comfortably separate, or is it more natural to be curious, to investigate what is unknown—to move toward your opposite?
Jung would say "yes."
Chapter 20:
Introvert Power
It is in your power to withdraw into yourself whenever you desire. Perfect tranquility within consists in the good ordering of the mind,—the realm of your own.
—Marcus Aurelius
We live in a society that thrives on interaction. We grow up learning the games. We are told that we live in a place where, like the mosh pit, you play or lose. Sure you can sit it out and watch from the sidelines, but the action is in the pit. Playing is how you have fun.
This is what we are told.
But we also live in a society that thrives on ideas. We learn, not just how to play with others, but how to use our minds, understand our emotions, and generate our own solutions. We are told that books hold indescribable pleasure. We are enticed to explore new worlds, to embark on the solitary journey. We learn to figure it out, to think for ourselves.
This is also what we are told.
When I began this book, I wanted to resolve the paradox of meditating in the mosh pit—to emancipate introverts from the constraints of an extroverted society. But the reality of the mosh pit woke me up to something new.
An introvert does notmerely slide into extroverted society and meditate there. She'll get pushed to the side, or trampled. Her meditation will not be recognized. Be silent in a group of extroverts, and they'll happily consume the space. Our power does not easily translate into contexts dominated by extroversion.
Introverts who enter the mosh pit may be moved there from within: a personal ideology is captured by and expressed through the music. These introverts become intimately connected with the experience of moshing before entering the pit. Many will be content to observe. Luke, another one of my moshing consultants, noted, "There are a lot of people who just want to stand there and listen, and get really annoyed at the moshers. They're the ones pushing them [the moshers] back in to protect their girlfriends." And some introverts jump in.
Entering, however, means accepting the conditions of the pit. Just read Berger's guidebook and you'll appreciate the importance of knowing what you're doing. Moshers mosh: they slam and push and sweat. The pit must be mastered before it can be transcended. Though moshing may become a meditation, there is no moshing without aggression.
So, is the message here to adapt first? Do we have to buy in?
No. The answer to the mosh pit paradox, to the question of how to be fully introverted in an extroverted society, is this: relinquish the belief that society
is extroverted.
Our society is made up of a healthy mix of introverts and extroverts. Even my family, I now know, reflects this mix. Both realities are always present—mosh pit and monastery, yang and yin. Introversion is coming of age. It is no longer enough to complain that extroversion won't let us be introverts. Of course extroversion won't let us be introverts; extroversion does not know how.
But introversion will, and introversion abounds.
It is time for us, as introverts, to take ownership of our society. We are here in great numbers, we are contributing and we are powerful. Sometimes it takes an extrovert to remind us of this reality. Though I long assumed I was invisible in my big, loud family, my extroverted sisters argue the contrary, telling me that I am the one that gets taken seriously, that my quiet wields a lot of power.
Introversion is very compelling in the outer world. Visit a portrait gallery, and notice the faces that draw you in. The Mona Lisa poses, even smiles a bit, but she doesn't give it all away. She sits regally and calmly. Her portrait captures the beauty of introversion. And she gets noticed. An estimated six million people a year come to see her, and she now has a wall all to herself. That's power.
Being openly introverted will always be a paradox, like Mona Lisa's smile. But it is actually in the paradox—in the challenge of outing introversion—that we discover our power. Hold paradox and you become larger, more powerful. Here is some food for paradox:
• We think of meditation as something we do in private, usually in a lotus position. But meditation is actually quite portable. In their book, Meditation 24/7, Camille Maurine and Lorin Roche instruct: "The key to meditation is that you set things up so that you are restful. When you rest in loving attentiveness, the vibrating silence that's underneath outer activity can emerge." Take your restful attitude into the world, and practice seeing the space between and the silence underneath.
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