What is it that is truly so wrong with being introverted, really?
I often find myself spinning this question in my mind, thinking of it as a small coin with a slot in the center, where I grasp it with two fingers and spin it trying in vain to find any other sides than just the continuous, eternal one.
We’re made to feel defective and incomplete. We’re humans, yes, but somehow the need to recharge in private is seen as shameful or boring or plain hostile.
Why should we all be required to be gregarious balls of energy?
Why would we want everyone to be the same and act the same?
Why isn’t it enough that when I am feeling like interacting I’m generally a nice person and willing to do small talk– the Holy Grail of the introversion vs. extraversion debate.
Introverts and extroverts exist in about similar percentages in the population –according to numbers from Myers-Brigg type tests, it’s about 47% to 53%, so it’s not like we’re rara avis (though always an odd bird am I).
I mean, no one seems to be totally biased against the intuitive types –as a matter of fact intuition is kind of encouraged and fostered and all those fruity adjectives-ed, but the numbers are still stacked against the sensing types in the population: there are almost three sensing types for every one fruity and fabulous intuitive type.
So it’s funny that even though being the quiet type or the not-so-quiet type is a relatively innocuous measure of character, most portrayals across the media seem to confer upon the person who would rather kick off her shoes and sit with a good book or staring at the ceiling after work the qualities of loserly and boring waste of time.
Oh yeah. You want to take the Myers-Brigg, right? Here you go. INFP? Cheers, my friend. Let’s go sulk and be idealistic and shit, together.
No. Not "shit together." "Shit, together". Difference.
You know what’s funny?
I started this post off a couple of hours ago, kind of frazzled and with systems in overload. Then I had some quiet time and opportunities to be at peace with myself and to think about other things, and wouldn’t you know it? I don’t even remember what triggered this tirade in the first place.
And I guess that answers it too: I am as introverted as they come. Don’t let the charming demeanor fool you: I’m not a party animal.
On a completely unrelated note, everyone’s favorite controversial blogger, Violent Acres, just had a bloggiversary! Happy one year, V! And what a year it’s been… >.<
Honestly, I must say that her blog has enlightened me quite a bit and made me thought about the empty blather of many blogs and has made me thought about what I write (though probably not enough).
But the true bonus?
Her life totally reads like a Venezuelan soap opera with a Tums chaser.
(It’s like Chicken Soup For the Introvert’s Soul. With Sriracha.)