People Tell Me I'm Not an Introvert
Today, I have nothing on my agenda except to write.
An entire day of outer silence that gifts me the opportunity to play around with the inner cacophony. To put the swirl of thoughts and ideas under 725,000 psi of pressure and plink out a linguistic diamond. Like that time I used the words “Eckhart Tolle” and “booger” in the same paragraph (if you’d like to gaze upon this particular gem, opt-in to the Bold Introvert email list and prepare your inbox for National Introvert Week, beginning March 16th).
This, ladies and gentle beans, is heaven.
This is the kind of day I live for as a bold introvert. This is the kind of day that feeds my soul. (Pizza is my soul’s other nurriture à manger—because talking about my soul stuffing its face sounds fancier in French.) This is the kind of day where the info and research and experiences that pin-ball around in my noggin get the chance to synthesize.
It’s the kind of day that lets me come up with more ways to help—specifically to help the quiet ones who have something to say, find really f’ing rad ways to say it.
The thing is, it’s also the kind of day where no one sees me. And while that is, ya know, the point, it also feeds the perception that many people hold that I am, in fact, an extravert. *gasp*
Fellow bold introverts, you know this feeling well. The exasperation when someone says something like, “You’re so outgoing! You must be an extravert” or “I don’t believe you’re an introvert, you’re not shy at all!” and your eyes roll so far back into your head that you can see the memory of that time you got pantsed in the elementary school gym. #stillnotoverit
Nothing releases my inner honey badger faster than people telling other people who they are.
I lived that life for a long time, Stretch Armstronging myself into all sorts of Dali-esque positions to make sure I was coloring within the lines of a picture someone else drew of me. I still wake up sore from all the years spent in contortion. So, please, please, staaaaahhhhp.
In my younger and much less sophisticated years *licks peanut butter off a spoon*, I had a shtick that was a big hit at parties. My uber-thick, hair was waist length at the time. When I really wanted to give my audience the ol’ razzle dazzle, I’d pluck a pair of glasses off a near-sighted bystander and—in one fell swoop—flip all my hair over my head and pop on the glasses. One minute they’re talking to Angela, then *BAM!* they’re chatting with Cousin Itt. If I was feeling extra spicy, I’d do a little shimmy to bring the whole bespectacled spectacle home. Photos of this shining display of tact and decorum are sure to surface should I ever decide to run for public office. (Ain’t. Gonna. Happen.)
If there was ever any concrete proof that I’m an extravert, these instances of hairy high jinks surely had to be it! Right?
Except that ignores the hours (months? years?! decades?!?) that I’ve spent holed up alone with my nose in a book, studying things that fascinated me (as well as things that were boring as hell but still useful).
This underscores a fundamental misconception about what it means to be an introvert.
It’s not about being shy versus outgoing. I’m always one of the last to leave a party—on the rare occasion I go to parties. It’ll be 2 AM and I’ll be doing the host’s dishes, feeding their cat, topping off their wine glasses and telling them to take a load off. And then I won’t speak to anyone but my cat for three days.
Being an introvert means that your inner world is more real to you than the outer world.
I’m going to say that one more time for good measure: Being an introvert means your inner world is more real to you than the outter world.
In one of y former incarnations, I was an event organizer. I oversaw hundreds of volunteers and managed events where attendees numbered in the thousands. My best friend is an innie* who owns a business planning and executing a-ma-zing weddings and events. That is not a people-less profession, people!! We often discuss the recharge time needed to do that kind of work and how to prioritize it within a busy, demanding schedule. Making time to go into that real world inside our heads.
*She’ll be super happy to know I described her as a belly button, I’m sure.
You can be outgoing when you’re around people—imitating Addams Family members at parties and planning events for hundreds of people—and still be a full-on introvert.
Which brings me back to writing days like today when I get to be all hot and bothered over words.
Writing gives me the ability to communicate what’s happening in that real world inside my head to other people.
I’m all, ”It’s like freaking Disneyland in here! Welcome to the par-tay! Here, have a mojito!”
It’s not uncommon for introverts to feel more comfortable expressing themselves through the written word. Even if you don’t consider yourself a writer, getting your thoughts out of your head and in front of your eyes is a valuable tool for introverts. It helps suss out what’s important—and that is the deceptively simple first step-a-roo in finding your voice and using it boldly.
I’m not an extravert. And I correct people who say I am. I try to suspend my beliefs about people long enough to let them tell me who they are. I expect the same in return.
Anytime we define people with a snapshot, we miss out on the panorama.
If people try to tell you who you are, Don’t. Let. Them. It’s up to you whether you want to dedicate your mental real estate to educating them, but in the name of the chips, the salsa, and the holy guacamole, do not let them dim your brilliance.
If you’re an introvert, be an introvert. If you’re bold, be bold, And if you’re a bold introvert, be a MAJESTIC BEAST.