Quest for Self: Level 1

I’ve spent the past *mumbles* decades mostly in advertising and teaching. It’s not bad work, and aside from that one advertising company run by cokeheads and a shifty guy who may or may not have been wanted by the mob (he hired body guards and hid in his office, but it could have just been the coke), they’ve been good jobs. Just, maybe not the right jobs for me.

I love helping people learn things. Over the years, though, I’ve discovered I’d rather teach smaller groups, tutor, or create a manual or tutorial to share than stand in front of 30ish kids. It’s one reason I loved teaching the girls at the detention center, but felt overwhelmed and less effective teaching the whole boy’s “mod” (think cellblock, but for kids) at once. It wasn’t the gender because I enjoyed the year I taught the older boys in a half a portable, too. That group was divided, though, and spent part of the day with me, and part of the day with another teacher.

I started to think there was something wrong with me. I mean, sure tons of people will say “I’m not cut out for teaching” and make a face that suggests you told them you jump into volcanoes for a living. Sure, plenty of teachers would hear my teaching location and make the same face. Thing is, I couldn’t imagine teaching anywhere else. They were kids who needed someone who cared, and could teach them something they could grasp in a way that spoke to them. I have explained fractions approximately eleventy-billion times because that’s where so many kids got stuck in school. (Yes, I am aware eleventy-billion is not a number. I also write fiction. I’m a lady of contradictions.)

Lately, I’ve been reading more about introverts. I knew I always fit the stereotypical description of an introvert. I loved lots of time alone to create or think. I liked small groups of good friends better than large crowds of noisy strangers. And, yeah, I’d been long-aware that the world seemed to like the extroverts better — especially in fields like advertising with the open floor plans and teaching where you’re basically putting on a small Broadway performance every day. I just always kind of assumed my introverted tendencies were a flaw, and if I worked hard enough at being boisterous and gregarious, I’d be “right.”

Introverted people trying to be boisterous and gregarious are weird. They come off as weird, and they tend to make the actual extroverts shudder in horror. It’s like watching Elaine Benes dance. That’s not to say introverted people can’t be boisterous and gregarious. They totally can. Often it’s when they’re in an environment they feel at home in or with people they know well, but also when discussing topics they’re passionate about or knowledgeable about.

I don’t know about other introverts, but I personally prefer having a message I need to share that’s greater than me. For example, I happily sat at the Bouchercon 2018 table back in October and talked to all sorts of people I’d normally be intimidated by because I was trying to convince them to come to next year’s convention. I can run up to strangers and try to convince them of a friend’s greatness or a friend’s product, but tell them about me? *hides in a bush*

Over the years, I’ve tried being more extroverted. I’ve tried going to clubs (where I stand in the corner and wonder how long I have to have “fun” before I can go home and curl up with a book and a cat or my husband). I’ve tried meetups and sports and various professional events that were meant to pull me out of my shell and suddenly make me the life of all gatherings.

Spoiler alert: none of that worked.

Interestingly, I’ve learned along the way that crowded events like conventions or street fairs are often more fun for me if I go alone. I used to take people with me to things like this because I thought I was supposed to be “doing things with friends” even though I rarely found people who wanted to go to book fairs and pen shows so I felt like I had to entertain them in between seeing the things I went to see. It was only after all the friends, who clearly weren’t that entertained, had other things to do that I made the choice to go alone.

Note: If you go to things like this alone, people will assume you’re sad and friendless and will often try to talk to you because they pity you or they assume you’ll be an easy lay because you’re desperate for attention. Feel free to smile and walk away, make up a friend who’s “just over there,” or tell them you work nearby and just popped in for a minute. You don’t owe people an explanation for your choices. Also, you can be a fun enough person all by yourself. That’s something I’m discovering. Introverts have a whole rich inner world. We’re not that alone. *creepy wink from a satire of a 90s horror movie*

What I noticed going to events alone was that while going with someone who could entertain themselves — by looking at the stuff they were interested in or being in their own head — was nice, going with someone who needed to be entertained was enough work to make the event feel draining instead of fun. (Something that used to make me feel bad, like I wasn’t good at friends or people or fun, but something I’m realizing just means I wanted to go to the event for the event, and that’s okay.)

So, in an effort to stop trying to turn myself into an extrovert and instead be a better introvert, I’ve started researching the whole dynamic and working on ways to be a little more balanced and a little more confident.

If you’re interested in finding more about your own level of introversion and other personality traits, 16personalities has a free test.