I am a social introvert and I wish to kick ass. I am joined in my ass-kickery by just about every other introvert that you are ever likely to happen across. This is because every introvert on the planet is, in fact, a fully paid-up member of the non-bullshit society. And there is nothing wrong with that. We are not raging against anything. We know that there is nothing deficient about us. And that is why we show up at roughly the same rate that people with personality parts 2 or 3 do. Wherever you might peer out from at this particular point in history, the odds are that you are looking at one of us. Introversion is an asset. Our tendency to lean into the glorious, fierce pleasures of solitude is a gift.
But, as an introvert, it’s hard to see the merits in who we are. It can feel as though the world is inhabited by extroverts, where being loud equals confidence equalling happiness; where everyone has an opinion but no one is listening. A world full of open-plan offices, networking events and large characters. For those of us who prefer not to be networked but enjoy more intimate interactions, it can feel as though we are shunted to the side.
Growing up, I was often an invisible child. A lot of people thought I had nothing to say, or I was obviously not of their interest. I wasn’t. Being introverted is often confused with being shy or antisocial. But just like any other person, introverts love socialising — sometimes. In fact, we thrive on social stimulation. But, in the end, whether we like it or not, introverts need alone time to restore our batteries… and we like it away from the crowd.
There is actually a biological science behind such a behaviour. The brain produces two powerful chemicals — dopamine and acetylcholine. When we take risks with new people, dopamine kicks in, giving us an energy burst that extroverts generally love. The problem for introverts is that we become ‘high’ more quickly, and we need longer to rebalance. This is one reason we all need to extinguish such states with acetylcholine, or by simply concentrating, reading or pursuing any other quiet activity, which gives us peace. It calms us, makes us more alert, yet also more content.
After all, preferences fall on a spectrum, with some increasingly leans toward introversion and others toward extroversion, and still others embracing a balance of the two, a person called an ambivert.
And now I’m much better at appreciating who I am. I reject the chit-chat, instead listening well and saying little. My circle of friends may be small, but they are rich. Time with myself is sacred; in the quiet of the solitary hours when the day’s drama is hushed, I am able to come home to myself before re-entering the wider world.
I have grown accustomed to various strategies: either I plug in my earphones and listen to music; or if I can, I retreat to one of the rare quiet green spaces in the city for a lunch break. I can handle this noisy world, and it is this world that interests me. But it’s on those silent solitary walks that I feel the ground under my feet.
When the world decides to consider introversion to be of greater value, perhaps we will all be better for it. The distinct contribution of the introvert is a mighty, though ordinarily overlooked, balm. Gandhi said: ‘If we could change ourselves, the tendencies in the world would also change. As a man changes his own nature, so does the attitude of the world change towards him. We need not wait to see what others do.’ In a gentle way, you can shake the world.
Wrote with Gratitude