How to be an Introvert: Cry

On a long airplane ride to vacation in Hawaii recently I was reading an article about introverts. I like to read about introverts because it makes me feel better about myself. Contrary to some public opinion, introversion is not a mental illness. But I was thinking, was I born an introvert, or did I become one? There is evidence for both in my life, but I vividly recall this defining incident.

In 4th grade the teacher called on me. I didn’t raise my hand. I never raised my hand. The last thing I ever wanted was to be called on. It wasn’t that I didn’t know the answers. I did. I think my entire life would have changed if I answered those questions. I would have become one of the cool, smart people. Instead, I felt my face flush beet red and then I broke into tears. I’m not talking about a solo tear I might have dabbed away with a fingertip. Literally sobbing. Word must have circulated in the teachers’ lounge because I was never called on again while in elementary school. And somehow my traumatic crying event passed on into middle school and high school because I didn’t get called on there either. The look of terror on my face at all times in school might have been a giveaway, but it really wasn’t terror, it was just the look of an introvert.

And we have a look. Mostly it involves looking down at your desk or the conference room floor in a business meeting or finding patterns in the wallpaper of a party house. Shoulders should be hunkered over like you’re about to collapse. It helps if you look sick — a little nauseous, perhaps.

To be fair though, by college I had fine-tuned my ability to be invisible; look straight ahead and don’t make eye contact. It’s kind of like what they tell you to do if you run into a bear on a hiking trail. Don’t look them in the eye.

I wish I could say that introversion served me well over the years, but it hasn’t. That’s not to say I don’t enjoy it, but it’s done me no good except for one thing. I realized on that plane ride that most of my friends are extroverts who recognized that I wasn’t a snob or a bitch, just an introvert who needed to be adopted.