Would All the Introverts Please Raise Their Hands? Please?

I have always thought of myself as gregarious and outgoing. When I took the Myers’-Briggs’ personality test, I was sure I was going to be an E (for Extrovert). I love people. That’s what I do. I run around and pat heads and stroke shoulders and generally do way too much hugging for the comfort of most of the folks, or so I’ve learned. Extrovert, right? Then I learned something about the MBTI ratings.

Extrovert doesn’t mean outgoing and people-liking. It means that that’s where you get your energy – that you recharge by surrounding yourself with people and their energy. Introvert, on the other hand, doesn’t mean mousy and shy and people-avoiding. It means that you recharge, when your life battery is flashing red, by getting away from the noise and bustle and turning inward for a bit.

What a revelation that was to me, and it explained most of my childhood. There were the hours I spent curled up under the stairs in the cubbyhole that I made by pulling the dresser there out a couple of extra feet so I could fit behind it with a lamp and a book and, when he was in the mood, our cat Ebony. The way I feel when I touch the keys of a piano suddenly made sense; the way it feels like home every time, and the way the world falls away and becomes invisible while the piano and I do our thing together. It’s almost an out of body experience. Like the way I feel when I’m writing poetry; any kind will do.

I need people. Desperately. Growing up with six siblings, it was always noisy and busy and crazy in our house. Raising five kids of my own, the house has been a revolving door for soccer players, rock band musicians and their groupies, neighbors and strays, dozens of John's students and anyone who wants to sing together or eat pie. I can get lonely, sometimes even in a very crowded room. I get hungry for human interaction, and I need to be needed. Still, I must concur with Jordan in The Great Gatsby – “I love large parties; they’re so intimate.” In a huge crowd, I certainly schmooze for a while, but in the end I acquaint myself with a great conversationalist and find a quiet corner to wrap up the evening. Or, I sit and just watch for a while.

Human beings are remarkable – creative and resourceful, compassionate and unselfish, wise and witty. Just when you think you’ve seen it all, heard it all, or are ready to give up and get all cynical and bored, somebody finds some way to break out and fill you with wonderment and surprise. I’m glad to know I can be an introvert and still watch the show.