But that’s not always a problem for introverts, argues the author of the article, psychologist Laurie Helgoe. In fact, she says, introverts have less of a need for happiness to function well, and may even find it distracting when attempting various difficult tasks. That indifference to happiness may itself cause more unhappiness for the introvert, who is now even more at odds with the culture that values feeling good above all else. So what is an introvert to do in the face of this seeming contradiction?

A good place to start is with self-understanding, and Helgoe ably characterizes what makes an introvert different from an extrovert, and why those differences matter. She also reminds introverts (counting herself among them) that not all cultures hold the same values, citing Finland and East Asia as places whose cultural norms are more in line with introvert tendencies.

Thus armed with this information, introverts may be better able to recognize and question social mores that run counter to their best instincts. And instead of feeling like a fish out of water, introverts may realize that they prefer the air.

Also interesting to me was the finding from a study done at Harvard that we may remember things more clearly when we think we are experiencing them alone. Looking to explain this phenomenon, researcher Bethany Burum gives two possible scenarios: one, that we may slack off when we think someone else is doing the same work we are, or two, that the presence of someone else inhibits us from concentrating enough to form higher quality memories. I find this second possibility very intriguing, and also Burum’s assessment that “People tend to engage quite automatically with thinking about the minds of other people…We’re multitasking when we’re with other people in a way that we’re not when we just have an experience by ourselves.”

As an introvert, I don’t need to be sold on the benefits of solitude, but it was helpful to read about current thinking on the subject, and to imagine a day when people are exhorted to be more introverted, for their own mental well-being.

It was pleasant because I don’t enjoy being the center of attention, and would rather be the observer than the observed. Of course there are moments when it’s nice to be recognized for some accomplishment or on a special occasion, but for the most part, I prefer to blend into the background.

It’s easy to accomplish this in a big city like Paris; anonymity is thrust upon you, whether you want it or not. And Parisians in particular like to maintain that impersonal façade, rejecting my sociable smiles when I forget that friendliness will get me nowhere. However, after living here for more than three years, I think I’ve finally found the chink in this anti-social armor, one I wouldn’t have found without the help of my son.

It all started during the last months of my pregnancy, as I found it harder and harder to navigate my way through daily life. All of a sudden, my growing belly became a source of fascination, and attention, and I reaped the benefits. Cashiers waved me to the front of lines, strangers gave up their seats on the Métro, and waitresses gave me extra-courteous service, smiling at me like we shared some special secret. Who were these people? Where had they been for the past two years?

As much as I truly enjoyed the pampering, I did find it disconcerting to be the recipient of such overt attention. Grown accustomed to strangers’ scowls, I now found it strange to be smiled at; I’d thoroughly absorbed the Parisian suspicion of friendliness, and it was hard to shake. I wasn’t used to seeing someone’s public mask slip so quickly, and it astonished me. It reminded me of the time I witnessed a smartly dressed madame on the bus helping a stranger’s child blow his nose—judging by her stern expression the minute before, she seemed the least likely person to make such a helpful gesture.

But I now knew the key to the phenomenon I was witnessing: I discovered that children (and by extension, pregnant women) are exempted from the code of anonymity that seems to underlie Parisian public life. And this has been proven time and again now that my little one is on the outside.

Every time I go out in public with my son, it is impossible for stony-faced Parisians to survive the onslaught of his charm. On the Métro he stares them down until they dissolve into fits of baby talk and goofy grins. Before he was born, I wondered if he would be an introvert like his father and me, but for now it seems he can’t get enough of the attention of strangers. It’s put me in a funny position; I’m suddenly forced into more social interactions than ever before because of my son’s sociability, but I’m also more invisible next to his overwhelming cuteness. Plus ça change, I guess!

On the CNN Web site today there was another article about the study that came out recently regarding sensory perception sensitivity (yesterday I wrote about a similar article that appeared on the Livescience Web site). It mentioned a lot of the same information I had seen in the previous article, but included one new detail that surprised me. I had assumed that since those people found to possess the SPS trait exhibited many classic introverted behaviors, the two groups were almost one and the same. Not so, according to the researchers, who claim that about 30 percent of what they call “highly sensitive people” are actually extroverts.

The article also provided a link to a test that can help you determine whether you are prone to SPS. I scored almost embarrassingly high on the test, but my husband, who is also an introvert, scored well below me on the sensitivity scale (does that sound judgmental?). This fits with the idea that introversion and high sensitivity don’t completely overlap.

A reader just sent me a link to a great article on the Livescience Web site. Although I find it annoying that the writer conflates shyness and introversion (one of my pet peeves), I found the main content of the article to be very thought-provoking. It describes a new study looking at the incidence of a genetic disposition to something called sensory perception sensitivity (SPS), which reportedly affects about 20 percent of the population.

Hallmarks of SPS include increased sensitivity to noise, crowds, caffeine, and a tendency to startle more easily. Also, “Individuals with this highly sensitive trait prefer to take longer to make decisions, are more conscientious, need more time to themselves in order to reflect, and are more easily bored with small talk…” While this sounds like the classic description of introversion, the researchers go further in their analysis, by looking at the underlying source of this behavior. They conclude that the increased sensitivity of those exhibiting SPS is the result of a preference to pay closer attention to one’s environment and experiences, a trait that could have evolutionary advantages in certain situations, in contrast to a “go-getter” attitude.

As I read the article, I found myself nodding a lot, and having little epiphanies about my own tendencies. Based on the description of SPS, I would definitely place myself in the subset of the population affected by it, and I appreciated that the researchers seemed to look at it in a positive light, instead of viewing it as a weakness. What do you think? Are you prone to SPS?

Today I ran across an interesting blog on the Psychology Today Web site called Self-Promotion for Introverts. I’m eager to explore this blog in-depth, since to me, “self-promotion” and “introvert” are usually mutually exclusive terms. For the moment, I thought I would point you in the direction of one of blogger Nancy Ancowitz’s recent posts that deals with confronting the myths about what it means to be an introvert. I got a chuckle out of it and thought Spectatrix readers would enjoy it too.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Summer has always been my least favorite season, so I was delighted to see an article on Salon.com last week with the blunt title Why I hate summer. The author, Rachel Shukert, shares painful memories of childhood summers spent at camp, where she encountered the “tyranny of enforced merrymaking,” and preferred to hide out in the infirmary, where she “…lay on a lumpy cot, reading “Night” by Elie Wiesel.” This made me laugh out loud; I saw myself in her description, and how weird I must have seemed at the time. Of course, at that age the pain was all too real, and the need to escape “enforced merrymaking” was all-consuming.

It didn’t matter where I spent the summer as a kid, at the lake, in the country, or simply at home, my nose was pretty much always in a book, and when forced outside, I preferred solitary pursuits (walking, swimming) to hanging out with cousins or siblings (although I loved them dearly). That made me a bit of an outsider, but it was the only way I could cope with all the activity going on around me. Plus, I just loved to read. For me, the best part of summer was the license I felt to devour as many books (or comics) as I wanted, sometimes encouraged by library summer reading programs. Forget tag or frisbee; my competitive spirit was best kindled by the challenge of reading as many books as I could during those eight precious weeks of freedom.

Now that I’m an adult, and have more control over my circumstances, I think I’m starting to make peace with summer. I still feel the pressure of “enforced merrymaking” that accompanies the warmer weather, but there are worse things in the world than spending long summer evenings sitting on a café terrace in Paris. Plus, I can now give myself permission to spend the entire day inside, beautiful weather or no, enjoying the comforts of a good book.

I’m not sure if an aversion to excessive noise is a hallmark of the introverted personality, but I do know that few things set me on edge more than exposure to constant, chaotic noise (making the ear-splitting renovation hubbub going on below our apartment for the past few weeks such a joy). It could be this sensitivity that leads me to pay more attention to any mention of noise, or it could be that there is a particular convergence around this issue in the global consciousness, but whatever the case, I’ve found that noise (or the absence of it) has been making the news a lot lately.

First the bad news: the International Herald Tribune reports that the ambient noise level in Cairo has gotten so bad that every conversation on the street must be conducted in screams. As the city grows in population, the din from traffic, public ceremonies, and hawkers struggling to be heard, has resulted in a daytime average noise level of 85 decibels, or “a bit louder than a freight train at a distance of 15 feet, or 4.6 meters.”

Less bad, but still not great: According to some, hybrid and electric cars don’t make sufficient noise to warn pedestrians (especially the visually impaired) of their approach. A bill to address this problem may soon be proposed in the U.S. House of Representatives, under the terms of which automakers may one day be required to build vehicles that produce a minimum level of noise. I’m all for strengthening public safety on the roads, but I’d have to see more data about the actual risk before being convinced that this is a good idea. In the meantime, maybe some lawmaker could introduce a bill to reduce the amount of noise cars are allowed to make. I’m sure there’d be a market for those cars in Cairo.

Potentially encouraging: A new movie starring Tim Robbins as an anti-noise vigilante has recently been released in the U.S.. Noise shows the transformation of Robbins’s character from an ordinary New Yorker into the rampaging ‘Rectifier,’ who expresses his frustration with blaring car alarms by destroying the offending vehicles. The movie has gotten mixed reviews; not having seen it I can’t speak for or against it (although I am wary of the glorification of vigilantism), but I would be pleased if it expanded the conversation about the problem of noise pollution in some way.

And finally inspiring news: The phenomenon of silent raves has been around for a few years, but recently it seems to have gained some momentum in the States. A silent rave took place in New York’s Union Square in April, drawing hundreds of participants. And what is a silent rave? It’s similar to an ordinary rave, in that strangers gather to listen to music and dance together, except that at a silent rave, everyone is listening to their own personal dance mix (through headphones, naturally). I love this idea because it combines public partying (which even as an introvert I can get into) with respect for everyone’s space, and bears an interesting resemblance to quiet parties.

As a poet and sometime melancholic, I found a lot to appreciate in this article, most likely because I have often had the kinds of aesthetic epiphanies that may come from contemplating the world in a melancholic light. I can’t do justice to the article here, but I would definitely recommend it to anyone who wants to challenge their thinking about the value of sadness to a fully-lived life. However, the more I thought about this article, the more I realized that a piece of the puzzle was missing; the pre-condition for my own bouts of insight into the deeper meaning of things was not sadness but the very act of reflection. I think that sadness may cause more introspection, as we look for an answer, or the silver lining, to whatever is troubling us, but I find it hard to put human suffering and pain up on such a pedestal, as something to be relished almost (of course, I’m overstating here). As I came to believe many years ago after reading theologian Dorothee Soelle’s book Suffering, it is immoral to impose the idea that suffering has to have an inherent meaning, because that expectation can lead to justifications for horrible acts of brutality. In the most extreme example, how could anyone expect a survivor of the Holocaust to agree that the experience was beneficial to them in any way?

I think part of the problem is the definition of terms. I have always thought of melancholy as a voluntary state, not something imposed by external events. The quintessential melancholic experience for me is to go for a solitary walk in a lonely park, on a cloudy or rainy day, and to revel in the thoughts that spring from that environment. Real sadness, the kind that knocks you down and makes it difficult to think straight, is not something I can easily wish on someone. I make this distinction because I think melancholy, or the ability to contemplate the world at a remove from its surface appearances, is something that comes more naturally to introverts, and it’s a quality I highly value. Sadness on the other hand, or even depression, afflicts everyone equally, and is not conducive to creativity in the same way.

This leads me to the second article I mentioned earlier, a review of a book called Shyness: How Normal Behaviour Became a Sickness by Christopher Lane. As the title might suggest, the premise of the book is that while shyness was formerly socially acceptable (a claim I might take issue with), it is more and more being treated as a mental health issue that requires medication. This is an interesting argument, but my sympathy for it is tempered by my disappointment in the author’s seeming lack of awareness about the difference between shyness and introversion. In the material quoted from his book, he conflates the two, weakening his assertion that changes to the DSM (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) have resulted in:

…the introverted individual [being] morphed into the mildly psychotic person whose symptoms included being aloof, being dull, and simply “being alone”… Apparently, social phobia—shyness— …has become a pandemic.

I am sympathetic to the author up to this last sentence; if being introverted is equated with being mentally ill, then I will take issue as well. But, if you believe, as I do, that introversion does not equal shyness, then the logic of his argument unravels. I can also agree that just because someone is shy doesn’t mean that those aspects of their behaviour should be overstated either. But I see introversion and shyness as being two completely different sets of characteristics. I have known very extroverted people who nonetheless could be considered to have mild social phobia, and I have known introverts who are exceedingly comfortable with being around others (although they usually prefer solitude).

While this might seem like a semantic quarrel, I think the broader implications of it are important. People who are truly suffering anxiety and who are not able to interact with others should not have their concerns diminished. Conversely, assumptions should not be made about a person’s mental well-being simply because of their external behaviour. As I mentioned in an earlier post, there is a big gap between preferring solitude and feeling unable to overcome it, and that difference is often known only to the individual experiencing it.

While these two articles address different topics, they both come to a similar conclusion: that we shouldn’t try to eradicate normal emotions like sadness and shyness in the name of mental health. While I admire the sentiment behind this idea, and agree with it to a certain extent, neither author is able to make a solid case for it because of what I see as the inconsistencies in their arguments: sadness is not the same thing as melancholy, and shyness is not the same thing as introversion. People who are suffering from depression or severe social anxiety do not need to hear that it is really our society that is to blame, that their problems, quite likely biochemical in nature, are all in their heads. Of course it is possible to go too far, and to try to medicate away any kind of discomfort, but I would argue that the benefits of our current knowledge of psychopharmaceuticals outweigh the potential for their abuse.