There is a question I have wondered for most of my life: why is it acceptable to be an introvert but not an extrovert?
I only have to scroll through my Facebook feed to see meme after meme about what introverts need. I even read a comment in a Writer’s Group that stated all writers are introverts who live through their characters. I commented that I’m an extrovert, and someone instantly came back with, ‘and how is your writing going? Penned any best sellers?’. My response was ‘No. How about you?’. Not surprisingly, they hadn’t either. Whether I write well or not hasn’t got anything to do with my social preferences. It’s about how well I can communicate what I want to say to my readers.
I don’t understand where the belief comes from that all extroverts are airheads or shallow. Sure, I can be ditzy at times, but I am also very observant. Admittedly some things go right over my head, but other times I’ve scoped the room as soon as I’ve walked in and gotten a very strong sense of what’s happening. I don’t see why society thinks that these traits only belong to people who are uncomfortable around others and would rather be home than at a party. Why is it so hard to accept that someone who talks a lot and enjoys company is also very intelligent or discerning?
Pondering this issue also leads me to question why people think it’s okay to make fun of people who do life differently from them. There’s no picture of me on this page, so let me tell you a few things about how I look. I’m short. Well, in my mind, I’m tall, because my mother is only 4 feet 10 inches high. I stood eye to eye with her when I was ten, and ever since then, I’ve thought I’m a decent height because I’m taller than her. It’s only when I see a sign on a door that I feel has been placed too low and then get level with it to realise it’s at my eye height that I admit five feet three inches tall isn’t as lofty as I’d like it to be. I reached my full height at thirteen years of age, and since then, the only growing I’ve done is sideways. So, yeah, weight control has been an issue most of my life.
I also have freckles. They’re cute when you’re eight, but not so much when you’re in your fifties! And I wear glasses. I’ve had them since I started getting massive headaches every day when I was eleven.
On top of all of that, my hair is dreadlocked. It used to be all sorts of different colours – pink, purple, blue, or all three at once. I drew the line at green because it never suited me. I’ve shaved it off a couple of times, too, only keeping my fringe. I quite liked it that way. When my fast-growing hair went grey early, I got sick of having a silver racing stripe down the centre of my hair after only three weeks, so I stopped dyeing it and had it dreaded instead. I like it. Dreads are fun to wear. They’re not so much fun to maintain, especially when you’re trying to get them dry in winter, but I think they look tidier on me than my not-straight-but-not-curly-either hair ever did.
If all that isn’t enough to make people look twice at me, I also have a rather eclectic dress sense. I can dress as boringly as the next person if I have to, but I like having fun with my appearance. I spent fourteen years working in primary schools and amassed quite a collection of clothes that could be worn for various events. I also like vibrant colours and clashes of patterns and tones. I don’t dress differently for people to laugh at me. Laugh with me, sure. Point and make fun? No. I dress to be comfortable, to make a point, to stand out, or to match a theme. I do it very intentionally. What I don’t do is make fun of other people for how they choose to dress. I wouldn’t walk up to someone and say, “Gosh, you’re looking boring today”. That would be rude. I’m not sure then why it is considered fair and fine for someone to comment negatively on me. Why is it acceptable to point out that I don’t fit in? I know I don’t, and I’m fine with that. I’m not okay with being derided for my choices.
The thing with being an extrovert is that I stand out. I draw attention to myself. I like to hold court at parties. But I also notice the quiet person standing by themselves with nobody to talk to, and I go over and introduce myself. They might not want to engage in a conversation, so after a few awkward sentences, I leave. But at least I’ve tried to be inclusive and help others feel welcomed and wanted.
We need to rethink the messages we’re giving about different personality types. I accept my more reserved acquaintances as being quieter people. I understand people pulling out of planned activities with little notice. It can be frustrating, especially when I was really looking forward to spending time with them, but I accept the ‘no’. However, being alone leaves my battery depleted, so I need to find outlets to recharge myself. I talk to strangers in stores and car parks. I get into random conversations with the people in lines around me. Those social interactions are usually full of laughter or generate interesting discussions. I have also had many passers-by stop me and comment that they wish they were as brave as I am because they’d have loved to have dreads, or brightly coloured hair, or wear ‘out there’ clothing. I say, ‘thank you,’ and smile in appreciation for the compliment because whether I’m an introvert or an extrovert, first and foremost, I am kind. That matters far more than what social designation I identify with.
So, c’mon, peeps – let’s accept each other despite our differences. There’s no need to belittle someone simply because they don’t view life through the same lens as you. Whether I’m taking over a conversation or hiding under my doona, I’m still human, and constant negativity hurts me as much as it would you.
A Glorious Mess 