Intro...Extro

I am on Facebook these days, and I find myself checking it all the time.  I can't even access it on my phone and I still look at it all the time.  It's worse than email.  It's become a kind of addiction.  It's become exactly the thing I feared it would, which is why I avoided it so long.  Social networks are great, I don't dispute, and they prove useful; but they can be a real problem.

What I really feared – because it's the argument against social networking sites – is posting my "status" a lot.  I think that it can get really stupid sometimes.  Perhaps not for all people.  But if the general human population is like me, they share stuff online because they like to share.  We all like to share experiences with friends.  I guess that's why storytelling is such an ancient tradition.  But you hear all the time about men changing their status during the wedding ceremony and women sharing their blueberry yogurt.  That seems to reflect a pathetic experience of existence.

Not everybody is that bad, but what's to stop you from getting there?  Manners, I guess; a sense of time and place.  But when I'm sitting at my desk – theoretically studying – and I get bored, what's to stop me from just posting about that?  A sense of ridiculous?  ...Hopefully I still have that sense at 1 o'clock in the morning.

But the urge to do that stems from a need to feel less alone.  I want people, even if those people are really far away and I can only connect with them through colored pixels on my computer screen.  Not too long ago, impending human company weighted my heart with the tremendous pressure from many sides to be social and loveable by all.  Being ignored, although it was a half existence, left me in security and relief.  I didn't have to worry about what other people thought.  Now being left alone is the last thing I want.  I used to have strength in approaching difficulties alone – I was a rock, I was an island – now, I'd rather have a sympathetic friend along to back me up.

We've talked about this concept in one of my classes and how not loving saves us from pain.  I've tasted both cups, and it's true.  Isolation means a lot less speculation and tiptoeing.  But it also lacks happiness.  It means never jumping up and down, never knowing that there are people out there who would like to like you.  It means rarely getting compliments, taking those you get as a king would the praises from a peasant.  It sounds ugly, doesn't it?

I swear I'm not all that bad.  I try to be nice to everybody, and talkative.  I just can't be talkative.  So when my uncle's mother-in-law turns her nose at my quiet presence, I cringe, because I know there's nothing I could do that could make her like me.  I'm quiet.  I have very little to say about her bit of gossip.  And I don't enjoy bantering with someone who has no give-and-take.  In fact, I was raised not to argue with my elders; so sorry, I was raised to be respectful.

A lot of people have respected me for my silence, but that didn't mean they liked me.  Some people get to know me, and I can only guess that they like me.  But do you see the silent man's dilemma?  He can either be taken to be unfeeling, insensitive, proud, selfish, uninterested; or some see him as very wise and as a deep thinker.  In reality, he may be neither of these things.  In reality, he's probably just not as inclined as others to lay himself out on the table until a certain point has been reached.

Now, the other side makes no sense to me whatsoever.  I just got off of Skype with my family, and most of that time, my mother was staring at another computer screen.  But when I asked her if she was even listening to me, she repeated my last paragraph nearly word for word.  I just don't get that.  How on earth do people do that?  Seems like a useful skill.  Whereas my dad turns off the TV and looks right at me while he's talking.  Now that I get.  He's obviously paying attention.  But so is my mom.  I just don't know it.

But I talked to a friend who takes my mother's view of life, and it really helped me to appreciate their point of view.  All I can say is they seem to have a very hyper interest in the world around them.  I'm deeply fascinated by the world, but my sight is narrow and focused.  I've come to love extroverted people because they will come over and say hi; whereas an introverted person might pretend not to have seen you if it's not easy to attract your attention.  But then the extroverted person might run away with the breeze at any time, leaving me confused: "He stopped by, but then he didn't even say goodbye – or wait for me to finish my sentence."  I'm not thinking poorly of him – I'm just confused.  It seems... unfinished.  An introverted person, on the other hand, might seem to be ignoring you at times but will make you the focus of his attention once you're in it (and give a conclusion to your conversation).  That can be uncomfortable if you don't have much to say, and you might not get the "high" off him that you got off the extrovert.

 

But sometimes extroverted people think the introverted person is depressed, and sometimes the introverted people think the extroverted person is far too hyper to possibly notice an introverted person.  Can the two be friends?  Well, I think so, if each side is willing to do whatever it takes to stay friends.  Sometimes it might seem like the introvert is upset (or "tight-lipped") and sometimes it might seem like the extroverted person has lost interest; but if the parties keep trying, I think they could make very good friendships.  At least I hope so, because some of the people I like best are extroverted.  (In fact, I love how many of them are perfectly willing to do much of the talking for me.  And often times, they are just so happy that I end up being a little, well, bouncy.)

Which are you?  And do you have any additional insights that might help?

~Meggy