Although I haven’t been writing anything here, I’ve definitely been formulating my own opinions about what life looks like for an introverted parent. Look for those observations to appear in future posts, but for now, I’m thrilled to introduce Soren Thomas Kissell to the Spectatrix community!

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.

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.

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.

My first experience with public laundromats occurred in my early twenties, when I first moved to San Francisco. I had a strangely romantic idea about them at the time, that there was something grittily poetic about airing one’s dirty laundry in the company of strangers. It didn’t take long before I grew tired of the routine: dragging my unmentionables down the block, then sitting vigil over this precious cargo while fending off boredom. I could never bring myself to do the load-and-leave, never trusted that my thrift-store wardrobe was safe from potential thieves looking for the perfect vintage t-shirt (hopelessly faded) or ratty pair of jeans. And so I subjected myself to one of my least favorite activities in the world: waiting around in public alone.

As an introvert, such occasions fill me with dread, as I feel vulnerable to any stranger’s approach, whether friendly or not. Without the buffer of a companion, it is much more likely that someone will try to engage me in conversation, even if I keep my nose firmly planted in a book. And during times of purposeful waiting, when it’s not easy to just get up and go, I feel like a captive audience for whoever wants to demand my attention. I realize that this may sound terribly anti-social, but in my defense, there are times when I am happy to engage in pleasantries with random strangers (granted, these are somewhat rare occurrences). It’s just that there are other times when I would rather have a root canal than a forced conversation.

It’s true that I could make this preference known in a variety of ways, could “tell off” the person trying to chat with me, but such an extreme reaction is not appropriate in most situations. I realized this again recently, when for various reasons I found it necessary to spend time in a laundromat, after avoiding them successfully for many years. As I waited for my clothes to dry, a bewildered-looking elderly woman approached me and began asking me a series of questions in rapid-fire French (which I find hard to parse at the best of times), only a few of which I knew the answer to. I tried to help her as best as I could, stumbling over my verbs and pronouns, but she seemed irked when I couldn’t give her all the info she needed (can you put bleach in this washing machine? I have no idea).

There came a point when she gave up on me–after I failed to understand why she needed me to dial a certain number on her cell phone–and she left me in peace. It was obvious to me that I couldn’t have just “told her off” or ignored her, because, a) she was a nice old lady in need of help, b) she was extremely persistent, and c) I don’t know how to say “I’m sorry but I’d rather just sit here trying to be invisible and not involve myself in your affairs” in French. And also, d) because such annoying/amusing cultural exchanges make for good stories when trying to write blog posts…

But overall, I wish there were some way to signal one’s unwillingness to interact on a given day (a certain piece of headwear, or perhaps a paper bag over one’s face), and an accompanying societal blessing for such a preference. I guess I could always stay at home on those days, and not care that my clothes remain unwashed; no one would have to suffer their filth but me.

Since we raised our cat Zora from a kitten, we like to joke that she’s taken on some of our introverted personality quirks, like needing her quiet time, and hiding when guests come over. Of course, those behaviors may be de rigueur for cats (which is why we’re both cat people), but we still find it amusing when we see some parallel between her reactions and ours. One good example of this is our mutual aversion to loud noises.

Just as Joe and I cringe when a wailing ambulance drives by, or a loudspeaker blares in our ears, there are some noises that Zora cannot tolerate at all. We found this out soon after we moved to our apartment in Paris, when a new bathroom layout tempted Zora to set up shop beneath a cozy radiator. Her new favorite hiding spot kept her out of sight so well that when one of us went to take a shower, we would forget she was in the room. That is, until she suddenly started loudly begging (after the shower was on, of course) to be let out of this room with the horrible noise maker. Because there are few things more annoying than having to step out of a hot shower dripping wet just to placate a complaining cat, we soon learned that it was best to check for her presence before starting the shower.

However, we found that it wasn’t always easy to dislodge her from her beloved hideout when the time came for showering. We hit upon a solution when I remembered that Zora always left the room quickly whenever I used my hair dryer. The next time I went for a shower, I plugged in the dryer and turned it on briefly. Zora was out of the room like a shot, and we had found our evacuation method. After months of experimentation, we’ve now gotten to the point that we only have to SHOW her the hair dryer and she will clear out. While it’s not a trick worthy of the talk show circuit, it is some consolation that we’re not the only ones being trained in this relationship.

A few weeks later, we met up with this friend again, and he sheepishly admitted that he had since visited this blog, and felt like he needed to apologize for dominating the conversation that night. I assured him that it was quite alright, and that I hadn’t felt sidelined, but had just preferred not to be so talkative. He then further admitted that at the time he had thought I was too intimidated or shy to join the conversation, but after reading my blog he realized that there had been times when I piped up about something (usually to correct Joe about some fact or other), and so was able to get my two cents in as I wished. I was pleased that this new friend now saw something about me that he hadn’t earlier. It’s not often I get the chance to make a good second impression.

It’s this anxiety about making a good first impression that I think hobbles introverts especially. We’re told from a young age that people will be judging us on how they first see us, but for introverts, it’s really not so easy for people to get to know us immediately. That may leave the impression that we’re shy, or that we’re arrogant, or that we don’t have an interesting thought in our heads. I’ve found it quite frustrating at times, and it’s become even more of an issue now that we’ve moved to a new place and are meeting a lot of new people. I want people to think that I am a smart, engaging person, but my introvert tendencies might work against that desire more often than I know.

Even knowing about this phenomenon, it still makes me wary when I read something like this introduction to a test dubbed the Talkaholic Scale:

Considerable research had determined that the more a person talks (in most cases, unless the person is an incompetent communicator or saying things that are offensive to others) the more positively that person is evaluated by others. They are more likely to be seen as a leader, as being more competent, and more positively on a variety of other person perception variables.

I know this to be true, but it still rankles. The ironic thing is that this test is actually meant to help someone realize that they talk too much (not usually a problem for me). While it acknowledges that talking a lot is often seen in a good light, the existence of this test points out that there is a downside to loquacity.

Because I’m always struggling with the opposite perception, I never gave much thought to the kind of first impression an overly talkative person might impart. I recently met someone who, when I mentioned that I wrote a blog for introverts, identified themselves strongly as an extrovert, but then went on to admit that far from expressing confidence, their talkativeness was born out of nervousness and insecurity. Since having that conversation, I’ve thought more about how my own prejudices color my first impression of other people. I think I have internalized the idea that talkativeness equals confidence more than I should have, and have missed seeing the shared vulnerability in a talkative person that might have led to friendship. It’s also interesting to think that the reverse is true, that someone might have interpreted my introversion as a form of confidence.

That gives me some hope, because I often do feel confident and at ease on the inside, even if that is not seen by others. As I learn more about my own preferred way of being in the world, I feel this even more. I can now move between silence and conversation at parties, not feeling that I need to be engaged in conversation at all times, but also more willing to talk to new friends. I’d imagine the goal might be the same for a talkative person, to know their own rhythm and to be able to find a balance between speech and silence.

What makes these comment sections so insidious is that they seem to draw mostly those on polar opposites of a certain question; the vitriol and intentional misunderstanding on both sides often makes me cringe. Alas, this is also what makes them fun to read! But after taking in so many comments by wannabe advice-givers, I have to stop and remind myself that no one making these comments has the full story. They are only guessing, based on the letter writer’s account, which may be further edited by the columnist, at where the real problem lies. For that reason, I’ve stopped reading these comments as attempts at helping or admonishing the letter writer, but more as an indication of the state of that particular person’s soul. What are they reading into the story based on their own experiences that makes them so passionate about this topic?

All this was going through my head as I re-read a column written by Cary Tennis, the advice columnist on Salon.com. I had saved the link to this column, which originally ran last March, because it seemed pertinent to introvert-related discussions. The basic story is that a woman was incensed because her best friend’s husband, whom she has known for forty years, recently made some comments to her that she found highly insulting (you can read more of the details in the column). The letter writer summed up his comments as follows:

He told me that he was having a difficult time being in my company. I said that after all these years you are telling me this? After that he continued: I make noises and cackle, I laugh too loud, I’m offensive, I’m too boisterous, and maybe I should walk around with a microphone to hear myself. And to add more insult, as if this were not enough, he noted that friends of theirs also have difficulty in my company.

All in all, written from her perspective, these comments seem very hurtful and not very constructive. However, going with my theory that the reader isn’t getting the full story, I wonder how the situation felt to the man who made the comments. I have to say, being an introvert, and having known many people who seem to suck the air out of a room without realizing the effect they are having on other people (only a small subset of extroverts by the way), my sympathies naturally lie with the best friend’s husband. And as to her question about why it’s taken him so long to express his discomfort, I can easily understand why he might have been hesitant to mention anything to her. As most introverts know, it just isn’t done. You don’t get to call someone on their “boisterous” behavior, no matter its effect on you, because you might hurt that person’s feelings when they are only “expressing their personality.” If you do, you risk having your own preferences questioned and belittled, as many of the comments on this column went on to illustrate.

Not knowing either of the people involved, the majority of the commenters (apart from a few brave souls who expressed sympathy for the possibly introverted man) felt free to make harsh judgments about this woman’s “tormentor,” insinuating that he is insensitive, has a problem with women, is anti-social, leads a pitiful little life, even going so far as to imply that his mental faculties are eroding as he gets older. Even Cary Tennis, the columnist, gets in on the act of bashing this man for his behavior. Maybe he knows something we don’t, but based on what was available, I don’t think all this vociferousness was justified. I don’t agree with the manner in which this man made his comments, but I can identify with the level of frustration he may have been feeling. As one of the more thoughtful commenters noted, if it was insensitive for him to bring up his grievances after all these years, she was equally insensitive in not realizing the effect her behavior had on him for the same number of years.

As I said earlier, I believe that we bring to these modern fables our own experiences which color our reactions. I will admit up front that I am usually more sympathetic to the introvert in these types of situations (within limits of course). But I don’t yet know how to answer the bigger question this raises: how do we as introverts make space for ourselves without lashing out in frustration (as this man seemed to do)? Is there a constructive way to tell someone they’re bothering you?

Now it seems I can’t stop.

When I first started looking up people I might know, it was amazing to realize it was possible to contact friends I had lost touch with long ago. There they were, right on the screen and within emailing distance. My first impulse was to contact a bunch of people right away, but my wiser second impulse was to take my time and contact a few people at a time, so I wouldn’t get too overwhelmed with responses (or have to console myself for a lack of responses). Another issue for me in the beginning was that as much as I’d enjoy getting back in touch with people, I have a hard time being breezy in email messages, the electronic version of small talk. Once a friend and I reconnected, would I have anything interesting to say, or would I slip back into the mode of communicating I employed when I knew them earlier (i.e. my pre-introvert awareness days)?

Strangely enough, I’m finding that the lack of anonymity is not a problem, that I’m enjoying sharing photos and personal information with friends and potential friends. I think part of this is due to the writing I’ve done on this blog, which has helped me to be more open about where I’m really at, but it goes beyond that. Being able to present a full (or semi-full) snapshot of the person I am now (likes, dislikes, work, daily activities) on my own terms makes me feel much more free to be social. I don’t have to get into all the little details (they can see them on my Profile), but I can start from where I am right now, and avoid small talk altogether. While a social networking site can’t substitute for relationships in the non-virtual world, in the short amount of time I’ve been onboard, I’ve been surprised to find that it may be the next best thing to being with friends and family in person.

Luckily I was blessed with parents who are introverts themselves, so I didn’t experience much parental pressure to behave in an extroverted way. However, I can remember extroverted teachers and professors who did not understand what I was going through, and who tried to make me fit into a mold that felt extremely uncomfortable. The sad part is that I think they really did believe they were doing me a service by trying to draw me out of my “abnormal” inwardness. They felt I needed to behave differently in order to be successful in the external world, when what I cared about most was the inner world of my feelings and impressions.

I was reminded of these painful memories when I read a post on the June Harbor Web site. The author begins by lamenting the treatment of female introverts by society (another topic on which I have strong feelings to be discussed at a later date), and continues on to voice an insight I felt to be very poignant:

Being an introvert does not make me unhappy. What makes me unhappy is the number of extroverts who insist that I am not happy as an introvert, and that I need to “get out” and party, etc., in order to qualify as a satisfied individual.

I think this is spot on, because others’ misunderstanding of our deepest nature can truly make us miserable at times. And adding to that, it can be very difficult for introverts to explain themselves to people who have never learned the “vocabulary” of introversion; the concepts just don’t make sense. As an example of this, further on in the post the author links to an article, Introversion: The Often Forgotten Factor Impacting the Gifted, that aims to inform educators and parents about the particular needs of gifted introverted children (again another interesting topic to follow up on at a later point). While I think the article is a good attempt at raising awareness, I disagree with the overall approach to the subject matter.

While I don’t mean to be dismissive, the two authors themselves state that they are, respectively, an extrovert and a “coping introvert.” This identification seems to set the tone for the article. I was especially struck by the statement that introversion is “…similar to perfectionism in that a little is beneficial and too much is harmful.” Huh? To me perfectionism is a bad habit that causes problems for those suffering from it; I don’t feel that way about introversion at all. It’s not something I can turn on and off and experience in degrees; in other words, it’s not simply a behavior, it has to do with one’s whole orientation to the world. To be fair, the authors do make a lot of good points about how to create more comfortable home and school environments for introverted children (which I applaud). However, overall the article seems to imply that introverts are fragile beings who must be protected from extroverted society, instead of advocating for fair treatment of both introverts and extroverts as equals.

I think this is what rankles the most when people try to convert the introverted; the unspoken bias that introverts need to be “fixed,” that they are somehow fundamentally flawed and need to be saved from themselves in order to succeed in life. I don’t buy into that belief system—I’ve got my own religion and it doesn’t involve repenting of any introvert sins.

Some time ago I read a great article by Salon’s advice columnist Cary Tennis called The two-introvert problem (you may need to click through an ad to get to it). In the article Cary responds to a letter from a woman who is frustrated because she wants to invite a fellow introvert on a date, but is concerned that their interactions will be painfully awkward. She doesn’t want to be forced into meaningless small talk, but can’t come up with an alternative scenario for the potential date.

Cary begins his response to her letter by describing a situation he recently observed:

The other day I watched an attractive young couple come into a cafe. The young man went to the counter and got some coffee drinks. The woman sat at the table. The young man came back and they sat drinking their coffee drinks. They looked at each other. They looked at the table. They looked around the room. They drank their drinks. They were quiet. They seemed comfortable with each other, and yet there was also a kind of intensity in the air. They didn’t say a word the whole time they were there.

I find Cary’s observation of this scenario interesting for two reasons: the first is that I like to imagine he was observing Joe and me during one of our many coffee house outings (Cary lives in San Francisco too), although I can’t vouch for the “young” and “attractive” description; the second reason is that I think he makes an important point about how there are different ways of spending time with someone in a public place.

While the popular idea about what a “date” looks like usually involves intense conversation and interaction, Cary goes on to advocate for a different type of dating encounter for introverts, one in which sitting in silence is acceptable if not preferable. He even puts forward a lengthy manifesto for introverts considering a new way of approaching their love lives, which basically boils down to rejecting dating stereotypes that don’t fit the people involved, and affirming more introvert-friendly ways of being together.

I think this column really resonated with me because it fit my own experience of dating a fellow introvert; Joe and I quickly bonded over our shared distaste for small talk and found ways of interacting that suited our dispositions. I’m sure it’s a different story for introvert-extrovert couples, although it may be easier on them since there is at least one person who is comfortable sustaining a conversation through those inevitable awkward moments during a first date.

I’d be interested to know what the dating experience has been like for other introverts; if you’ve got a story to share, I’d love to hear about it in the Comments section.

The loss of this trusted confidante is said to have been the catalyst for the development of Montaigne’s life’s work: the 107 written pieces that make up the three books of his Essays. If Montaigne could no longer converse with his friend about all that was on his mind, he could pour out these thoughts and ideas onto the page instead. This is what makes Montaigne’s writing so compelling to later readers and admirers; to read one of his essays is to feel like you are listening to a friend, following his arguments, allusions, and theories about a variety of subjects.

On the subject of friendship, Montaigne concluded that “…what we ordinarily call friends and friendships are nothing but acquaintanceships and familiarities formed by some chance or convenience, by means of which our souls are bound to each other.” In contrast to this, he describes the type of friendship he enjoyed with La Boétie as one in which “…our souls mingle and blend with each other so completely that they efface the seam that joined them, and cannot find it again.” Because of this close bond, Montaigne believed it was impossible to have more than one friend of this kind; doing so would divide one’s loyalties and energy to an unsatisfactory degree.

Montaigne’s views on friendship may sound familiar to introverts, who are often known for cultivating only a few close friendships, and who may consider other relationships as “acquaintances and familiarities.” This could be the case for the reason Montaigne mentions; introverts have only so much energy to give to others. I also think it’s because introverts thrive on the one-on-one conversations that fuel deep friendships, and are less likely to feel close to people with whom they feel they cannot share this type of conversation. In my own case, I know it takes a long time for me to make friends because I need to be able to trust someone before I reveal what’s really on my mind. It’s too difficult and frustrating to make that effort if I know I don’t have someone’s full attention.

I think this tendency has made me feel lonely at times, like there weren’t enough people in the world who knew what I was like on the inside. But, when I think about this rationally, I realize that having scores of friends might never fulfill this need for true connection; if I can find it in even one person, it’s a gift worthy of celebration.

(Quotations above are from “The Complete Essays of Montaigne,” translated by Donald M. Frame)

Just such a situation came up repeatedly during our last trip to Las Vegas, when multiple decisions had to be made about where we should eat, what show we should watch, whether or not we should get off this stalled Monorail to see what the problem is (the answer to that one is no; it will just take off the minute you’re out the door). And so my beloved would turn to me for the fiftieth time that day and ask me to express an opinion about the matter before us. Keep in mind that Vegas aims to suspend tourists in a hungry, thirsty, footsore fog, brought about by the ridiculous amount of walking you must do to simply get from the front door of a casino to the restroom they’ve cleverly hidden behind a bank of slot machines. This is not the optimal state for anyone to be making rational decisions in (which explains the popularity of slot machines and the all-you-can-eat buffet), and it was no easier for me.

But this time, when the options were laid out before me, I really tried to focus my attention in order to come up with the right answer. Suddenly my concentration was broken by a complaint from Joe: “Could you have a more blank look on your face?” Apparently, my complete lack of outer expression was taken to mean that I was ignoring the question, when in fact the wheels were turning in my head, just not noticeably. In addition, my failure to respond verbally was found to be annoying; couldn’t I make some sign that I was pondering the question, a thoughtful “hmmm….” or “let me think about that.”

That made me laugh. I had thought I was applying the most efficient solution to the problem—to actually think about it—and to have to stop that process in order to reassure someone that I was thinking seemed nonsensical. I realized that, as some people cannot chew gum and walk at the same time, I cannot talk and think deeply at the same time.

I know there are folks who thrive on that dual action (a supposedly common trait in extroverts), and while of course I can formulate thoughts while talking, I cannot give the utmost attention to something while still talking about it. It reminds me of the TV show, “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire,” in which the host, Regis Philbin, was always encouraging struggling contestants to think through their answers out loud. It was supposed to be seen as an encouraging gesture, but I believe it was more to address the fact that watching someone sit and think is incredibly boring. And I guess it also served to hurry the game along; if it were me in that chair, I’d probably wait it out a day or two, just long enough to come up with the million dollar answer.