Online Learning from the Road: February 2014

There is a lot of discussion floating around the web lately about introverts and introversion in general: "How to care for your introvert," "23 signs you are secretly an introvert," "Definition of Introvert" and so on. This carries over into pop psychology, quizzes, articles (and articles and articles) as people try to define who they are or who they love or who they are around, these strange pets that need tending and specialized handling. I really think these articles are more for those who aren't introverts, but that only leaves extroverts, and that seems kind of ridiculous. All of this, though, made me think of a discussion Scott and I had last week about going out after he made a much needed escape to be with friends (see 11. You're in a relationship with an extrovert):

S: I really needed to get out, be around people.

A: I completely understand. You've been working and studying, and that's all you've been doing.

S: I need to be around people; I like people. I know you don't like people.

A (without much conviction): I like people...

I stumbled across this article today when I was pointedly avoiding work. It's pretty spot on, but it seeks to offer something that we so desperately seem to want: a categorization, a sense of "fitting," and making sense of our peculiarities. I didn't need 23 signs to tell me what I already know, and have known since I was young, about me. It's so inherently me, that as a kid I tried to fight it off, only to repeatedly lose that fight and retreat to my quiet corner, a la introvert-style. I had this papasan chair, the frame picked up at a garage sale and a new cushion bought, and this 1970s relic became my haven, a nest to curl up in and lose myself to books and candy (always the candy...still). When I was 15, I popped the screen out of my window in my second story bedroom, dragged my chair over to the window and propped my legs up, feet dangling out, mere feet from the neighboring house. Our calico cat and I decided on joint custody of the chair: she could have it when I was gone and/or not sitting in it, and I would have it when I had need of it.

The title that suggests people are "secretly introverts" is perplexing, though. This is my super-secret alter-ego: Awkward Girl! Actually, anyone who knows me knows this is not so secret. Awkward Girl: Able to make you uncomfortable in record speed! Able to make you cringe within seconds of meeting! Able to destroy your hopes and dreams in one word!

I wanted to take a closer look, though, at some of these numbers. This article, I don't know. It's like some train wreck I can't not watch. It rattles around in my head, a loose marble pinging and distracting. It's a list of 23 things, but only two ideas, maybe.

Communication:
1. You find small talk incredibly cumbersome.
2. You go to parties -– but not to meet people.
3. You often feel alone in a crowd.
4. Networking makes you feel like a phony.
5. You've been called "too intense."
8. Giving a talk in front of 500 people is less stressful than having to mingle with those people afterwards.
9. When you get on the subway, you sit at the end of the bench -– not in the middle.
14. You screen all your calls -- even from friends.
21. You’ve been told to “come out of your shell.”
Because small talk is inane. Yes, yes, the weather, your children, work, etc etc *yawn* Admittedly, this was the worst part of working in service, especially at the coffeeshop. The drink I'm clutching with white knuckles is my life preserver, and I'm secretly obsessing over the straw that I want to gnaw on to release this stress and anxiety you are making me feel. Since gnawing on straws is apparently a social faux pas, I'll resort to madly using it to mix my drink. Let's sit down? Fantastic; I think I spotted some napkins I can shred, but a beer bottle label works just as well. The subway? I don't want to talk to people, that's why I sit on the end of the bench, that and the fact that I've been harassed on public before (isn't that the story of everyone who rides public? and isn't that why most people search for those empty, all the way away from the rest of humanity seats first? This statement is stupid).

Other things are so much more interesting:
6. You're easily distracted.
15. You notice details that others don't.
16. You have a constantly running inner monologue.
20. You look at the big picture.
22. You’re a writer.
See note about straw/napkins/anything that lets me release my nervous tics. Let me look at extrinsic matters because intrinsic matters (me) are terribly uncomfortable and awkward. It's probably good that Scott has adjusted to me people watching when we go out. There is just so much stimulation out there. I'm probably the person staring at you when you are out in public. Sorry! Most of the time, I'm not actually seeing you (after I've noticed the small details about you) because my inner monologue is distracting me. Also, I love how this pigeonholes writers: oh, you write? Introvert!

Leave me alone:
7. Downtime doesn’t feel unproductive to you.
10. You start to shut down after you’ve been active for too long.
13. You actively avoid any shows that might involve audience participation.
19. You don't feel "high" from your surroundings
23. You alternate between phases of work and solitude, and periods of social activity.
I have to have time to process all of that information from being with people and in public. It takes time, even though I've already judged you while I was staring at you.

I don't know how to categorize these:
17. You have low blood pressure.
18. You’ve been called an “old soul” -– since your 20s.
I've been "mature for my age" for all of my life (except when I acted my age and disappointed every adult around because I...acted my age), but I have a suspicion that #5 up there under "Communication" is connected to this. Perhaps low blood pressure is connected to the "Leave me alone" section.

I'm going to go be a distracted, unfun, socially awkward recluse now, but at least you understand me thanks to helpful "how-to" tutorials and lists.

The takeaway? Owning an introvert maybe isn't so much fun. A dog might be a better choice.

Today, I want to punch Thursday in the face. Seriously.

It's one of those days when I just feel worked over. Everything's wrong; everything's frustrating. I want to curl into a little ball with a blanket over my head and a bottle of wine because a glass just won't do.

It is a day when curse words, those blessed little four letter words, are necessary and useful. Perhaps they aren't eloquent, and there are probably better options, but there has to be patience to find those, and make sense of them, and piece them together into coherency, and I don't have that today. I need the heavy, blunt force that curse words are. I need that shock, that zing that courses through the mind at uttering them not in that flippant, weightless way, but in that meaningfully needy way. There would probably be just a string of them, too. Not just a single curse, but each following closely behind the other--a hyphenated hand-holding kum-ba-freaking-yah of curses.

Those "soft" curses like I just pulled out don't cut it either, dammit. Give me the hard stuff today.

@#&$!