I gravitate toward situations where I'm working away at some big project on my own, whether it's working to catch up to all the shows I have on my DVR, engineering a huge Minecraft structure, or tracking down and digitizing all my analog works (and by that I mean, handwritten or shot on 8mm film). I often have to remind myself that when I look back at experiences, I won't think of the hassle of getting to wherever it's happening, or the trouble it takes to organize the trip, even though it's all I think about beforehand. If I thought this way consistently, I might never leave the couch. (And incidentally, having a five-year-old is a great way to get yourself to change the way you approach activities... if you were to undertake something only after thinking about how much time it would take to clean up, you'd never do much of anything.)
I've been working at my new job for about nine months now. It's right in my wheelhouse, too; sitting at a computer and ninja-flipping spreadsheet data. It's mentally challenging and detail-oriented, but it still gives my mind some time to roam, listen to podcasts, plan what I'm going to write that day, etc. However, up until recently, I didn't quite know what to make of most of my co-workers. I've been working alongside many of them for the full duration of my time here, but I certainly don't feel like I can start talking to them without some kind of question or agenda. I just don't know them that well.
It started to concern me a little bit that there were several members of the staff who wouldn't make even eye contact with me when we passed in the hall. I was used to the way things were at my other workplaces, where it was kind of expected to at least meet eyes and say hello as you pass a colleague. Even a simple smile and a nod was acceptable. But with some of the people here... you get nothin'.
The explanation for this didn't really hit me until recently, when I had to sit down with a few of them to be trained on a new procedure. And each time, I pulled up a chair, and we started interacting as if we had been collaborating this whole time, and knew each other well. That's when it hit me: I work in the middle of a whole room of introverts.
It was actually a really satisfying feeling, figuring this out. And it made me a little more proud to be an one of their number. In a culture that tends to play up (or at least, tell more stories about) people who would rather go out and *do* *stuff* instead of stay home and read about them, it's easy to feel that the inclination to sit and think is frowned upon in some way, even if it's not true. The discovery that most of the people I work with are quite a bit like me was nice. It's kind of like finding my tribe. Or realizing that I've been among them all along.
I bet I wouldn't have come so late to this revelation if I had worked in a bigger variety of offices in my work life. Really, I'm only working with a sample size of two: Borders, and here. Borders was a much more fully integrated team, now that I think about it. We were all sitting at computers in identical cubicles, yes, but there was a wide variety of types of business being done. In daily activities I stuck with my data folks, but we were sitting right alongside marketing teams and buyers who worked regularly with outside sales reps. We were a heterogeneous mix of personality types. At my new workplace, we're all part of a data team, having similar jobs that run in parallel. No one would be here if they had a burning need to interact with the public. On the contrary, we work with personal patient information sensitive enough that we need to work in a separate room, accessible only by a keycard. Privacy is something that we take seriously, and that attracts a certain type of person.
It prompted me to do a little research about the subject, to see just how well I fit into the modern conception of introvert. And I seem to follow right down the line, starting with Jung's classical definition of the introvert/extrovert dichotomy. He said the introverts are more inclined to pay attention to their (and others') psychic activity, while the extrovert looks for stimulation in the environment around them. Neither state is better than the other, necessarily, for it would be a poorer world if there were no one to build and move and accomplish, just as poor as if there were no one to ponder, extrapolate, or to create an uncompromising, singular vision of something.
There's probably a chemical component to this, too... recent studies have shown that introverts have higher blood flow in the brain's frontal cortices -- the "thoughtful" parts of the brain -- while extroverts' brains are more focused on the senses, and register the dopamine rush of physical reward more strongly. Extroverts appear to have stronger and more positive emotions, but introverts have more temperate moods, which can be a good thing to have in stressful situations.
I've often felt that I used to be more extroverted than I am now. But after some thought (no surprise there), I'm not so sure. I realized that my most extroverted times were during two of my major extracurricular activities as a student: high school drama and college men's chorus. Even now, I can recall how good it felt to be in those environments. I felt like I could literally walk up to any other member and talk to them freely, about almost anything. But what I have to consider is that these were times when I was part of a large group, united in a common cause, over the course of several years. Upon examination, I can see that these were, in actuality, insular groups within the much larger society of school. No wonder I felt so in my element there; I had plenty of time to get acclimated. Even the high school choir I took part in didn't seem as close-knit, because it was an official class, more a part of the outside world. And it wasn't that I didn't have great friends there, I did... but I didn't get that same feeling that I could initiate conversation with any other person.
If anything, thinking about this has helped me understand how other people view me. One of the things that introverts worry about (but not enough to change their natural inclinations, you understand) is that they'll be seen as snobs or stand-offish, when that's really not what they are. We're really just quiet and reserved. The fact that I, classic introvert that I am, thought this about some of my co-workers makes it clear how easily this sort of judgment can be passed.
So let me see if I can explain a little bit of introvert behavior here... both for people who aren't of that disposition, and maybe to get a little self-insight for those who are. I guess it comes down to whether or not you enjoy being a focus of attention. Speaking for myself, I don't, and it doesn't take much to make me feel like I am. Every time there are more than one or two people watching what I'm doing, my mind somehow qualifies it as a performance. This might seem contradictory to someone who has done a lot of drama and choral performances, but those experiences are very different. They're often done within a group, and always with a framework and a clear, rehearsed plan of what's supposed to be done.
So is it a confidence thing? While I tend not to pass judgment on people who make a public mistake, but when one happens to me I tend to replay it and analyze it. The introvert's propensity for self-analysis leads to a highly critical view of the things that they themselves say or do. I'm certainly guilty of this... even with something as informal as Facebook statuses, I often rewrite them several times to make sure my tone and intention are clear and concise, and even then I'll think of a better way I should have said it later on. And as for these blog entries? I put them out on a weekly schedule because I'd endlessly revise them if I didn't give myself a deadline.
But why do I do that? I should at least address that, as long as I'm diving deep about this. What makes tracking the mind's inner workings so irresistible to the introvert? Because we're not just analyzing ourselves, we're also trying to guess how others will analyze us in turn... Maybe the fascination comes from trying to understand a complicated, intricate system with a lot of uncertainty in it. It would be hard to find a better example of that than human psychology. And I do spend a lot of time mentally examining minutiae, whether it's considering the motion of distant stars, or the way the plot of a favorite book is structured, or paying extra attention to the background orchestration of a good song.
All my life, even without actively meaning to, I have found myself taking something that seems random and chaotic and trying to break it down to its simplest elements. And maybe that's the most basic difference (see, I'm doing it right now!) between extroverts and introverts. We're all trying to understand the world around us, a world that seems sometimes to be just barely holding together, with so many unpredictable elements and random occurrences. An extrovert will jump in and take the macro view of things, maybe not caring so much about the inner workings of life, but getting out there and figuring out the broad strokes by participating. The introvert, on the other hand, will take in everything about a particular subject and analyze it until they get it.
Of course, no one is purely one way or the other, so we're all this odd amalgam of sometimes contradictory impulses, focused toward one goal: figuring out just what the hell is going on, and what we should do with that information... if anything. And I've found that not only are there things to be learned from being around people who are nothing like you, there's a lot to learn from those who very much like you, as well.
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