Now that I’ve got the blog up and running again, I don’t want to disappear without an explanation. I’ll be traveling for the next few weeks, so there won’t be any new posts during that time. I should be back to a regular posting schedule by the end of February. Thanks for your understanding!

A week ago, revered author J.D. Salinger died at the age of 91. Salinger’s passing brought his life and work back into the public spotlight, which was a place he worked hard to avoid for most of his life. Known as much for his reclusive nature as for his most famous novel, “The Catcher in the Rye,” Salinger once wrote: “It is my rather subversive opinion that a writer’s feelings of anonymity-obscurity are the second most valuable property on loan to him during his working years.”

Coincidentally, this week also saw the public reemergence of another spotlight-shunning writer/artist. Bill Watterson, creator of the Calvin and Hobbes comic strip, gave an interview to the Cleveland Plain Dealer newspaper, thought to be the first he’s given since 1989. Watterson ended his work on Calvin and Hobbes in 1995, and since then has resisted pressure from his fans to revive the beloved comic strip. In the interview, Watterson seems incredibly down-to-earth about his success, and unwilling to remain stuck in the glory days of the past.

I don’t know the whole story behind why these men choose/chose to guard their privacy so fiercely. But these days, when the pursuit of fame for its own sake has become so widespread, I find it really refreshing to be reminded that there are creative people out there who are more interested in their work than in basking in the public spotlight.

Today was a big day in the Spectatrix household. My husband and I found out that the baby I’m having in June will be a boy! This new knowledge brought up a whole host of emotions as well as questions — now that we know a bit more about this growing person, what other kinds of things will we learn about him in the future? Just who will this new person be?

One of the big questions we have is whether or not our child will take after us in temperament. Since we’re both introverts, we assume that he will also be an introvert, because of genetics and because of the environment we will raise him in. But I don’t know if this is a safe assumption; I’m sure there are examples out there of introverts raising an extrovert and vice versa.

In some ways it would be easier if he were an introvert because we would understand his perspective more readily. On the other hand, he might have an easier time of it if he were extroverted because of the societal bias against introversion. I’m sure both would have their challenges and benefits, and I hope that we could help him graciously navigate the world in whatever way works best for him.

What are your experiences, both as parents and as children?

As I’ve written about in previous posts, I think the term “loner” is too often used to describe behavior that falls outside the normal range of introvert experience. Instead of a negative term that denotes a dangerously isolated individual, I think “loner” should be reclaimed for those who simply enjoy spending time alone.

Because of this, I was heartened to find an article on the Psychology Today Web site with the promising title “Field Guide to the Loner: The Real Insiders.” Presenting anecdotes of people who genuinely find time alone to be healing and beneficial, the author draws a distinction between “the loner-by-preference” and “the enforced loner.” She further notes that there is compelling psychological evidence that introverts have “…increased sensitivity to all kinds of emotional interactions and sensory cues, which may mean that they find pleasure where others do not,” which can be positive but can also lead to overstimulation in social settings.

If you’re interested in reading the full article, go here.

In a recent comment on the post Austen’s Introvert, a reader mentioned having seen a reference to eight types of introversion. I was curious to know more about this, and in the course of my online searching, ran across the Web site for the Keirsey Temperament Sorter. Looking over the site, I realized that the eight types of introversion might refer to the eight Myers-Briggs profiles that include the introvert strand (ISTP, ISTJ, INTJ, INFJ, ISFP, ISFJ, INTP, and INFP).

The Keirsey system does use these profiles, but organizes them into four larger categories or temperaments (which include both introverted and extroverted types): Artisan, Guardian, Rational, Idealist. Looking at how my Myers-Briggs type (INFP) was characterized under this framework (as an Idealist temperament), I found that it very accurately described my own perception of my “type.” And it was thought-provoking to see myself as more akin to certain “E” types (ENFJ and ENFP), than to the other “I” types. I was also pleased to learn that Isabel Myers, the co-creator of the Myers-Briggs test, was a fellow INFP.

I wasn’t previously familiar with the work of Dr. David Keirsey, or with his books Please Understand Me and Please Understand Me II, but my interest has definitely been piqued. It’s a reminder that there are many helpful means out there to increase self-understanding, and that there’s always more to learn.

Although I try to embrace my introverted nature as much as possible, there are days when it’s not easy to do. Today was one of those days. Even though I know that I don’t function well in large groups, especially when the dominant language spoken (French) is one that I still struggle with, I develop a type of amnesia and put myself in these situations again and again. Surely, I think to myself, it’s not too much to navigate a room of full of perfectly nice people, who are friendly and kind, and on most days maybe it wouldn’t be a problem. But then there are days when I feel particularly “innie,” when painful social interactions have me questioning my intelligence and sanity, and I return home feeling like I just want to crawl into bed for the rest of the day.

Imagine the scenario: a party, people talking and laughing, and the introvert stands alone among them, stuck in a freeze frame while activity buzzes around her. She looks at those closest to her, how alien they seem, how at ease they are with each other, they appear to know just what to say, how to act. The introvert doesn’t understand. Who are these strange creatures, and how does one make contact with them? Someone makes a joke, and she thinks, yes, now smile, appear to be amused. But it’s no use, they are seeing through her, she’s certain, they know she’s not one of them.

That’s the kind of day it’s been. And in thinking about it, the title of the post just jumped into my head. I knew that I had heard it somewhere, so I googled it and found that’s it the title of a sci-fi novel by Robert A. Heinlein (and also a phrase found in the book of Exodus). I’ve read some Heinlein, but not this particular book, so I was surprised to discover how closely the plot mirrors my feelings about the day’s events.

Heinlein’s protagonist, Valentine Michael Smith, is a human raised on Mars by Martians. The novel chronicles his return to Earth as an adult, and the difficulties he experiences in understanding human concepts that are unknown on Mars. While there is a lot more to the book — including the introduction of the term “grok,*” one of my husband’s favorite geekisms — it’s the idea of trying to understand an alien culture that I find interesting. And the fact that though Smith may not “grok” human culture, the humans he meets likewise aren’t familiar with unique Martian beliefs that may be superior, or as valuable, as human ones.

I will try to remember this when I am again in an uncomfortable social situation. My perspective as an introvert doesn’t make me lesser than, but just different, from those around me. At least I will try to “grok” that message, if I can.

*One of the definitions of “grok” in the OED, is “to understand intuitively or by empathy;” for more info, see this Wikipedia article.

For years I’ve been a fan of the BBC adaptation of Jane Austen’s novel Pride and Prejudice, starring Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle. I first watched it soon after it came out in the mid-90s, and have watched it a few more times since then. I was thrilled to receive the Blu-ray version of it this last Christmas, and wasted little time in watching all six hours of it yet again.

Seated in front of our big screen TV with a group of girlfriends, drinking tea and eating crustless cucumber sandwiches, I saw the familiar scenes unfold, but something felt different. Like all young girls with literary aspirations, I had always identified with the witty and compassionate Elizabeth Bennet, but now I was starting to find her slightly annoying. Why was she so slow to see the true intentions of the taciturn Mr. Darcy? To me, his actions and demeanor were easily readable, but she seemed utterly blind to his real character. While I know that this is the central theme of the novel (to which the prejudice in the title refers), I had always seen things from Elizabeth’s perspective, and like her, viewed Mr. Darcy as a proud, misunderstood man who needed to be drawn out in order to be happy.

But now my perspective had completely shifted, and I felt a kinship with Mr. Darcy instead. There was nothing wrong with him, I realized, he was just an introvert! I felt with him the discomfort of forced sociability, and the frustration of being misjudged because of a wish to keep one’s private thoughts to oneself.

It may be that I’m projecting more onto the character than is reasonable, but it will be interesting to go back and read the novel through this “introvert” lens. Whether I will find confirmation of my theory there or not, I find it fascinating that with age, and increasing comfort with my own way of being in the world, old stories can transform into new friends.

It’s been quite a while since I’ve posted anything here, and I suppose I should feel guilty about that, but the truth is that I don’t. For the last half year or so I have just not had the inclination to put anything of myself out into the world (apart from short notes on Twitter); I guess I’ve been suffering a form of writer’s block. But I’m not stressed about it, because I’ve become comfortable with the fact that generating constant content for a blog doesn’t suit my style — sometimes I really don’t have anything to say!

It goes along with being an introvert, this discomfort with talking/writing for its own sake. I knew when I first started this blog that this was a danger, and it has been borne out by the frequent gaps in posting in the past few years. This may not be the ideal way to run a blog, but it feels sustainable to me. All I can do is hope that past readers will check back in from time to time.

Because at the moment, I do feel like I have something to say. It’s time to throw my hat back in the ring, and fire up the old keyboard. My life is very full at the moment, and new thoughts are bubbling away. One source for this is the impending arrival of my first child — yes, I will be an introvert Mommy come June! There is more to say about how the world looks to this introvert, and I hope you’ll join me once again on that adventure.

During my daily internet browsing, I’m always on the lookout for articles or news stories that relate to introverts. This week I found a few items that I think will be of interest to Spectatrix readers.

First off, a nice piece from Garrison Keillor on Salon about his periodic need for solitude, in which he conjures up a New York café experience that does sound “heavenly”:

…to walk into a little cafe with an armload of newspapers and sit at the counter and read them over a bowl of chili and a grilled cheese and a white mug of coffee, and a waitress who says, “What else would you like, love?” — this is heaven…

The second item I found is an essay from The Guardian written by Rachel Denton, a woman who calls herself a hermit. In the article, Denton describes not only her daily life as a hermit, which is quite interesting, but also the experiences that led up to her decision to live a solitary life. In particular, I found it fascinating that she had once been determined to become a nun, but she found even convent life was too social for her taste.

The final link I’ve got is from the Web site of the Academy of American Poets, which features a collection of “Poems about Anonymity and Loneliness.” I take issue with the title of this sampling of poems, which they admit further on also includes poems about “solitary thought,” because I think “melancholy” is a better adjective than “loneliness.” And as I wrote about in an earlier post, melancholy can be a good thing. In any case, I like this gathering of poems, and I hope you do too.

Joe and I recently attended the European premiere of the new Terminator movie, at which some of the film’s stars, including Christian Bale, were present. We didn’t get to see Bale navigate the media scrum, as we were standing in line (with thousands of others) waiting to get our seats, but I did overhear someone express their opinion (in unprintable French) of the actor. That shook me. Earlier Joe had asked me if I would like to be so famous (for my writing, of course) that so many people would come out to see me. I gave him an unequivocal “NO.” I knew that I would hate to be the focus of so many people, but also would hate the fickleness of the crowd. Such hypocrisy in spending so much time, money, and effort to see a celebrity, yet still be able to turn on them at any moment.

I imagine that kind of fickleness is what proved so disturbing to Britain’s Got Talent contestant, and now global superstar, Susan Boyle. To have everyone build you up and then criticize you for the smallest misstep (as happened after her second performance on the show) would rattle the most jaded of performers, let alone an introverted person with little experience of fame. I thought it was telling that between her second and third appearances, those charged with her care thought it best to isolate her, from the media and from the public, I presume.

Isolation as an escape from an intrusive public seems to be the issue behind another story that came out today. Vanity Fair is planning to publish an article in its July issue about Johnny Depp’s private island in the Bahamas, and in a quote from the piece, Depp shares that life on the island is his “…way of trying to return to normalcy… Escapism is survival to me.” Never mind the fact that owning one’s own island is not “normal” for most people, I find his statement extremely depressing. Sure, it would be nice to have his wealth and opportunities, but if your only means of escape is to live Robinson Crusoe style, that means you look at the rest of the world as a prison. As tempting as it is, I would choose the ability to move (relatively) freely in the world over a private island any day.

In previous posts I’ve mentioned the salon.com advice column, Since You Asked, written by the inimitable Cary Tennis, which often seems to feature introvert-related issues. Today’s question, posed by a forlorn introvert, had to do with that age-old problem (at least for introverts): how do you stay true to yourself yet still make friends? The letter writer pointed out, quite rightly I thought, that the old self-help trope that when trying to cultivate friendships, one should “be oneself,” is not useful to someone who is by nature more solitary.

Cary wrote what I thought was a helpful response, agreeing that “being oneself” is a poor way to describe the necessary action in this kind of situation. Instead, he counseled the letter writer to “Hold your own space” in a social setting, in opposition to “the signals you are getting from the rest of the people that you do not exist.” Even when standing silent amongst the crowd, a time that can seem excruciating to introverts, Cary argues that the introvert is still making an impact. As an example of this, in what may be my favorite part of the column, Cary imagines a “conclave of introverts” in which “silences erupt for deliberation.” The lone extrovert in such a group will certainly understand what kind of power simply “holding one’s space” has, as he waits for the relief of a return to conversation (or so Cary, an admitted extrovert, has experienced it).

Finally, Cary analyses the whole phenomenon of “attention,” advising the letter writer to determine what he/she really wants to get out of social interaction, and even questions whether interaction as such needs to be part of the equation. In what I think is a brilliant formulation (why didn’t I think of it before), Cary states that “Wanting attention is not the same as wanting interaction.” He cites the example of performers and lecturers who may thrive in the spotlight, but be reluctant to engage in social interaction outside of their work. This certainly sheds new light on previous posts about introverted actors and politicians.

I’ve usually found the CNN Web site a good source for catching up on daily news, but lately I’ve been disappointed with the sensationalistic tone it often employs. One example of this trend was a “Commentary” article written this week by James Alan Fox, a professor at Northeastern University in Boston, regarding the recent mass shootings in Alabama and Germany.

To be fair, the article does include some insightful commentary about the dynamics behind such mass killings, but that insight was undercut by the title given to the piece: “Loners, losers — and killers.” As I wrote a few years ago after the Virginia Tech murders, using the term “loner” as a key descriptor of the perpetrators of such atrocities is unfair to the vast majority of self-proclaimed loners who are not violent. Plus, it makes no distinction between those who choose solitude, and those who “lack emotional support from friends or family,” as the article describes them.

However, I was glad to see that many of the commenters on the article took issue with the use of the word “loner,” and offered their own experiences as well-adjusted and healthy “loners” as a challenge to this type of characterization. It made me hopeful that the message may eventually be heard by the mainstream media and society at large, and that one day the term “loner” will not be carelessly applied, or used to stigmatize a behavior that is second nature to so many.

More than a year ago, I wrote a post about how I had finally been persuaded to join the social networking site Facebook. At the time, I was still new to Facebook and finding it to be a handy way to reconnect with friends and family around the world. Today, I still appreciate that aspect of the site, but I have to say that the pain of using Facebook now outweighs any pleasure I get from it.

It may seem melodramatic to use the word “pain” to describe the emotion I feel when logging on, while using, and even after signing out of Facebook. But that’s exactly what I felt a few weekends ago, when at the end of a particularly long session, I found myself in an incredibly bad mood and realized it was the time spent on Facebook that had brought on the blues. I decided to go on a Facebook “fast”; I avoided the site for a week to see if it brought any change to my daily mood. As I had imagined, the experiment proved that I was indeed happier when not under the Facebook influence.

In the course of the experiment, I identified a few reasons why I was having such a negative experience on Facebook, all having to do with my introvert tendencies. First of all, I find it difficult to come up with Status Updates (short descriptions of what you’re doing at the moment), and when I do come up with one, I am inevitably disappointed when no one responds to it. As an introvert, it takes more energy to be interactive and when it is not reciprocated, I feel let down, whereas I imagine that people who update their status more frequently (most often extroverts) don’t place such emphasis on each thing they write. And, as I complained to my husband, it often seems the most banal things get a lot of feedback, such as “X person likes pie,” to which he replied that it was a lot easier for someone to respond to that kind of note, than “X person is experiencing a dark night of the soul.” I had to admit he had a point.

Which is to say that I shouldn’t expect deep emotional connection from a site that most people use to post drunken photos of themselves. And that brings me to another aspect of what depresses me about Facebook. I can see (in great detail often) how friends and acquaintances are socializing with other people (i.e., not me), and that makes me feel even more like a wallflower than I already am. Of course, a lot of my “friends” on Facebook live a great distance from me, so there’s not a chance for me to be the one in their impromptu photo shoot, but even if I was living in the same city, there’s no guarantee it would be any different. I am not a social butterfly, and that won’t change.

While all this may sound like a self-induced pity party, I am actually relieved to be able to put a finger on what was bothering me all along. I think it’s because I had once imagined that Facebook would be a useful tool for us introverts (and I’m willing to admit that there may still be some who find it so) that my disappointment with it is more acute. Now I see what I should have seen all along; there’s a reason they call it “social” networking. Facebook is the perfect medium for extroverts to find and interact with other extroverts. I just find it tiring. I’d rather spend some face time with a good book.

I’m really enjoying working my way through Newsweek’s seven-part behind-the-scenes account of the recent US election, Secrets of the 2008 Campaign. I’m learning fun facts, such as the Secret Service’s code names for Barack Obama’s daughters (“Radiance” and “Rosebud”), and not-so-fun facts, like the details about infighting among Hilary Clinton’s staffers. I was especially interested to learn more about the temperament of our President-Elect, and to realize, based on some descriptions of him, that he just might be an introvert.

I must confess that I usually imagine politicians to be uniformly extroverted, as constant interaction with the public would be sure to drain the energy of most introverts. But, I also believe that introverts can learn to be more extroverted in certain situations, and there are some (perhaps tending to the Feeling end of the Myers-Briggs Feeling-Thinking continuum), who really thrive on meaningful interaction with friendly and like-minded individuals. I obviously can’t speak for Mr. Obama, but here are a few pieces of evidence that might confirm his tendency to introversion.

In the first chapter of the series, “How He Did It,” there is a description of some of Obama’s self-doubts early in the campaign, particularly regarding his performance in preliminary debates, and how he dealt with them:

Obama was a relentless self-improver: “I’m my own worst critic,” he told NEWSWEEK, but he was also a loner who needed to step back away from the others, to look more closely at himself. He wasn’t chilly, exactly, but for a politician he was astonishingly inner-directed, and that could make him seem remote.

There are so many introvert “code” words in these two sentences; “loner,” “inner-directed,” and “remote” are very common ways that introverts are characterized (although not always by introverts themselves). Further along in the article there is a telling description of how members of the press first saw the candidate, noting they found him “chilly and guarded.” Sounds like a misunderstood introvert to me!

If you add these observations to Obama’s reputation as a voracious reader and accomplished writer (often hallmarks of an introverted nature), the picture gets a little clearer. If my conjectures are true, and Obama really is an introvert, my admiration for his commitment to a tough job is even greater, and I would be delighted to know that someone “like me” will be occupying the Oval Office come January.

I had the good fortune recently to come across an interview with acclaimed novelist Marilynne Robinson that ran in the Fall 2008 issue of the Paris Review. I had heard of Robinson’s work, especially her 2004 novel, Gilead, which earned her the Pulitzer Prize, but I’d never read any of it. This interview not only made me very eager to do so, but also inspired me as a writer and introvert. I was especially charmed by the description of her preferred habit of dress when in writing mode, as “…a pair of loose pants and a sweatshirt,” since I am also a believer in the idea of comfortable clothing as a means to creative insight.

But what struck me most about Robinson’s exchange with interviewer Sarah Fay was her account of the importance solitude holds in her life and writing:

…I’m kind of a solitary. This would not satisfy everyone’s hopes, but for me it’s a lovely thing. I recognize the satisfactions of a more socially enmeshed existence than I cultivate, but I go days without hearing another human voice and never notice it. I never fear it. The only thing I fear is the intensity of my attachment to it. It’s a predisposition in my family. My brother is a solitary. My mother is a solitary. I grew up with the confidence that the greatest privilege was to be alone and have all the time you wanted. That was the cream of existence. I owe everything that I have done to the fact that I am very much at ease being alone. It’s a good predisposition in a writer…

Although I’m an unrepentant introvert, I have to admit that the level of solitude Robinson describes would not suit me. At certain points in my life I have spent long stretches of time “without hearing another human voice,” but it’s never felt entirely comfortable. Perhaps it’s because I grew up in a large family that rarely afforded me that type of isolation, but also never left me alone with my fears and anxieties, that I would find extreme solitude difficult rather than enriching, as Robinson seems to do. In fact, what I most prefer is to be left to my own devices, but to be within earshot of someone else doing their own thing (luckily, my husband has the same kind of preference). Silence is wonderful, but the thought of being alone for days on end fills me with dread.

That’s why I’m so fascinated by how Robinson seems to revel in that solitary state. She proclaims the benefits of solitude in a way I’ve rarely heard before, and I can see why it is so important to her even though I can’t fully understand it. But even if I can’t imagine myself benefiting from that type of profound solitude, I think it’s at least necessary for me (and probably most other writers and creative thinkers as well) to experience it in smaller doses. Like cultivating an ability to sleep for brief periods of time and then return to work refreshed (a talent I would also like to have), Robinson has inspired me to do more to cultivate my capacity for deep solitude — to be able to lose myself in it, to walk around within it, like some kind of magic circle, and then be able to return to my relatively more social life. It’s strange for me to think about needing to practice solitude, because it usually comes so easily for me, but I think the kind of solitude Robinson is describing isn’t a default state, but a purposeful one. Not a retreat, but a mode of being that enables a writer to do her best work. That sounds like a great place to be.