Like human sexuality, I believe introversion is on a spectrum. It is rare to find a person who is purely introverted, although the hermits we read about who live in the woods or lone caretakers of remote Pacific islands must score high on the scale.
Between extroversion versus introversion, most of us fall somewhere in the middle.
When I declare myself to be a toward-the-end-of-the-spectrum introvert, most people are skeptical. After all, I’ve lived a lot of my life in the public eye. Like, really in the public eye. But that actually doesn’t disprove my hypothesis. We mustn’t equate social skills with extroversion. Lots of extroverts don’t have any. And lots of introverts end up racking a shotgun and blowing up a mall. Separate issues entirely!
Here’s how experts make the distinction between extro-and-introversion.
Let’s pretend you’re a parking meter. Does being around people put green in your meter or slowly drain it till there’s nothing left? Do you get “social hangovers,” or a feeling of being wiped out after a night of heavy socializing? Or do you feel juiced, like you’re ready to go, go, go?
That’s how you know whether you’re an intro or an extro.
Being around people all the time “costs” me. Make no mistake—it’s a price I’m happy to pay when the company is worth it. And I definitely need the camaraderie of like-minded friends. But if I want to get green in my meter again, I have to be alone for a few hours. It’s how I process my thoughts, feelings, and impressions of what just happened. It’s how I understand myself and the world.
I admire the forceful personalities of most extroverts, especially those with great stories to tell. They usually feel comfortable around me, knowing that I give them my full attention and will never jockey for space on their conversational dance floor.
According to psychologist Jonathan Cheek at Wellesley College, there are four types of introverts.
Social Introverts show a decided preference for solitude, small groups instead of large ones, and that holiest of holies, a night at home with a book or a computer or a Netflix and chill. But here’s the deal: there’s no social anxiety behind this preference. Social introverts like people just fine; but small groups or solitude are better. This is me, for the record.
Thinking Introverts show little aversion to social gatherings and can be right there in the room with you, but you can tell they’re mentally elsewhere. These are people who are naturally introspective, self-reflective, and non-neurotic. Even in the midst of all the hilarity, they can be far far away, king or queen of their own internal fantasy world. This is not me, by the way. When I’m with you, I’m with you.
Anxious Introverts are, in a way, introverts by default. Their preference may be social hedonism, to be the life of the party, yet they feel awkward and self-conscious and are never confident enough to fulfill their own dreams of social ease. These are the poor souls who lay awake at night turning over in their minds all the things they should or shouldn’t have said, gaffes they made, people they offended. I’m not a socially anxious introvert.
Restrained Introverts are, perhaps, less of a trait and more of a personality characteristic. They’re reserved. It may take a while to get to know them, and can expect to do the “heavy lifting,” but they’re usually worth the effort and can make solid, lifelong friends. This is also not me. I can be shy, but I’m rarely reserved.
Do you see yourself in any of these descriptions? If so, comment below!
I've never made any apologies for my introversion, and all my friends understand and recognize that I have a limited capacity for social interaction. I can speak in front of crowds with no difficulty; at my book release party last summer, I did a reading in front of 60 or so people with no problem. I've given speeches and presentations, and while it's not my preference, I can bullshit my way through like a pro.
I simply prefer small groups- six is best, eight is the absolute maximum. More than that, and I'm usually looking at my watch and wondering how much longer I have to be "on" before I can disappear into my basement mancave and grab one of my guitars.
I have no problem engaging, and I can talk to anyone about just about anything. It's just that I seldom choose to do that. As I'm writing this, I'm in my basement office, with a soccer game on my big-screen TV. It doesn't get much better than that.
I've been on the introvert scale by default, but what I really am is shy. As a child growing up, I could scarcely look another person in the eyes; I still have a tendency to mumble. But 22 years ago, I discovered the Ren Faire. Going in garb (I don't believe I can share pictures here, but Stacey might know the one I'm thinking of) gave me permission to be "not me," and become instead the story I constructed around my faire persona. It was a real "RELEASE THE KRAKEN" moment. (That and fencing, sabre.)
With things like grad school & then teaching, "breaking in" to a group was always hard, but once there, I finally relaxed and "became me." But even after years of teaching (when I could actually get a job) the first 6 wks of class were always the same: I had to hover at the men's room because I'd spend the 20 min before class started having to pee like a race horse. (Evidently, Carly Simon got physically sick prior to every concert.)
With "retirement" (which is to say, no jobs), the death of friends, and then the pandemic, I am finding that all the worst of my old habits are roaring back to life, and I hate it. I know that once I break past the shyness, I'm good at social interactions, enjoy them, and am even energized by them.
But just today, even with the world of S. IL opening back up, the thought of going to a local place that I really like and haven't been to in over a year for some craft beer and non-traditional tacos, while I just sit by myself and work on the 500 word abstract for a paper I've been invited to submit, leaves me twisted up with indecision and almost sick to my stomach. Yet god knows, I need to get out of the house.