The Quiet Rise of Introverts. Brenda Knowles
time, energy, and attention focused on external achievement, we have less time, energy, and attention to put toward our inner realm. It’s easier to keep on following the recipe and be an achievement automaton than it is to pause and reflect on what we are doing and who we are.
Because our inner world is so neglected and the inner world is the introvert’s happy place, the introvert suffers. It’s difficult to go against the current, without the electricity of our inner world to energize us.
Conflict is stimulating too. It’s easier to maintain harmony by complacently agreeing than it is to find the vocabulary and energy to speak to the contrary of cultural norms.
Carl Jung said personality or wholeness is an achievement earned (not given) in the second half of life. The first half of life is spent emancipating ourselves from our parents, finding a spouse, creating a family, and becoming an effective contributor. Jung’s theories about the first half of life line up with the meritocracy ideals. After we’ve satisfied these ideals, we look inward. We develop our psychological selves by noticing tensions within us. We pull opposite traits into closer balance: for example, if we are more introverted, we might strengthen our extroverted skills. We bring the unconscious into the conscious. Jung called this process individuation, and we will discuss it further in Practice Three.
In my own life, I’ve followed the pattern or recipe Jung described. As a suburban, stay-at-home mom, I fell into the trance of the ultra-achiever. I kept myself and our three children so busy there was no time to think. My outwardly successful husband led the show. He attended a highly accredited MBA program. He had a high-paying salary as a portfolio manager at a hedge fund. He was doing it right according to the meritocracy and society at large. We were perfect citizens—buying cars and homes and saving for our kids’ college funds and our retirement.
I did not take the time to question our lifestyle or to look inward until I was thirty-seven years old. Perched on the ledge between the first and second halves of my life, my eyes fluttered open and self-awareness slipped in.
TENSION
The first feeling that interrupted my sleep was a low-grade tension. The year my children were six, four, and two, I found myself at the doctor’s office sitting in a vulnerably thin examination gown, asking for something to give me energy, boost physical desire, and stave off depression. The doctor wrote a prescription for Prozac, an antidepressant.
At that point in my life, I had a part-time nanny, personal trainer, housecleaners, and virtually no budget restrictions. There were no reasons why I should not be able to design and juggle magnificent schedules, or to have profoundly happy children, a well decorated home, and a blissful demeanor. And yet I found myself being short with the kids, emotionally overwrought, and just plain sad. I had no drive. I tuned out some of the noise and requests of me in order to get through the day. I vacillated between extreme sensitivity and dull malaise.
There was tension between the roles I played and the real me. I did not know it at the time, but I was living the perfect life for an extroverted commercial success. The life of the competitive external achiever (a successful individual, according to the meritocracy) did not sit well with my internal temperament. My husband and I had engineered a world where I had no time alone, few generative conversations, and a constant outpouring of energy. Many people would say that’s the life of a parent. I agree. The point I hope to make is that my situation caused enough dissonance within me to make me seek relief.
But I subconsciously knew that the doctor could not fix my problems (dependent paradigm). I had to work on them myself. I’d effectively contributed, as Jung said, and now it was time to look inward.
I did not fill the prescription.
SOLITUDE
My love affair with solitude began. Instinctively, I searched for time and space to be alone. I had a desperate need to regain energy. Socializing with the neighbors and dinners with my husband’s coworkers did not recharge me. Only in solitude could I breathe. In solitude thoughts were heard, daydreams flowed, clarity arose, ideas came together. I came together.
The problem was that when I spent time alone, I was not spending time with my family. Good mothers don’t spend time away from their families. They live to be with their children. It was hard to explain to my husband why I would rather read for two hours by myself than be with him.
“I had told people of my intention to be alone for a time. At once I realized they looked upon this declaration as a rejection of them and their company. I felt apologetic, even ashamed, that I would have wanted such a curious thing as solitude, and then sorry that I had made a point of announcing my desire for it.” —Doris Grumbach, Fifty Days of Solitude
It seemed other people loved the constant hits of interaction through social media, emails, texts, phone calls, and in-person meetings. Everybody wanted to keep in touch all the time. My former in-laws called frequently for short conversations. Quite often the calls felt like interruptions to any rare moments of concentration I had.
Why was it so vital for me to be left alone? What was wrong with me? For a long time, I could not articulate what my soul needed.
Slowly, with intentional observance, I began to notice that if I did not take time for myself, my presence became muddled. My thoughts gridlocked and my demeanor was zombie-like. I came across as there but not there. That was not good enough.
Many people come alive in relationships. The more the better. I was driven by relationships, but found myself inspired and transcendent in solitude.
Eventually, I stumbled upon Marti Olsen Laney’s classic introvert guide, The Introvert Advantage. I took the included assessment to find out if I had introverted traits such as:
• When I need a rest, I prefer time alone or with one or two close people rather than a group
• When I work on projects, I like to have larger, uninterrupted time periods rather than smaller chunks
• I can zone out if too much is going on
• I don’t like to interrupt others; I don’t like to be interrupted
• I can become grouchy if I am around people or activities too long
• I often dread returning phone calls
• I am creative/imaginative
• I form lasting relationships
• I usually need to think before I respond or speak
I answered yes to the majority of them. What a revelation! I had to know more. I read anything I could find on introversion in 2008, before Susan Cain had popularized the topic by writing her book, Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking.
Dr. Laurie Helgoe, in her book, Introvert Power, shares her husband’s experience of dealing with her introversion and need for space. He likened it to a light being removed or a projector stopping during a feature film. I tried to keep that in mind when requesting time to myself.
I learned that introverts need space to live as their true selves. We unfold like old road maps—creases released and possibilities endless—when immersed in open-ended time. Extroverts need hits of attention and interaction to stay energized. Different methods of rejuvenating, neither better nor worse.
I found a place to rest in the words of famous loners like Henry David Thoreau and Charles Bukowski. It had been so long since I felt that kind of belonging. Like a parent’s lap or a lover’s embrace, the acknowledgement that cravings for solitude were not selfish or bad enveloped me in warm acceptance. It was like sitting late at night at the kitchen table with my dearest friends.
“Now, more than ever, we need our solitude. Being alone gives us the power to regulate and adjust our lives. It can teach us fortitude and the ability to satisfy our own needs. A restorer of energy, the stillness of alone experiences provides us with much-needed rest. It brings forth our longing to explore, our curiosity about the unknown, our will to be an individual, our hopes for freedom. Alone time is fuel for life.” —Dr. Ester Buchholz