Why I Don't Like "Extrovert" and "Introvert"

Hey Steph,

There's all kinds of mean things you can call someone, ranging in insults of physical appearance, personality traits, and intellect. But there is one word that makes me cringe whenever I hear someone describe me this way. The word is shy.

See, you could call me dumb or rude or unsightly, and I don't think I would think much of it because though I'm no genius nor am I always pleasant nor am I model-esque, I don't doubt that I'm averagely smart, kind, and cute. But the word shy cuts me deeply because I know to some extent it is true. I guess after so many years of practicing being outgoing I hope that the overall sense of me wouldn't be shy.

Remember that one time I wrote about Aristotelian Categories? I've got some more thoughts on that topic. So several months ago I attended a book club meeting where we discussed the book Quiet by Susan Cain. The book discusses the strengths and characteristics of introverts. At the time I was reading this book, I felt like every blog post I saw was about the awesomeness of extroverts or on how to befriend an introvert, etc. It seemed everyone was excited about these two labels. As we began discussing the book at the meeting, it quickly became evident that the book had been a big release for a lot of people in the room. They said phrases like "I feel like this book allows me to be me" or "I always thought I was weird and didn't know what was wrong with me, but now I know it is because our society generally values extrovertism over introvertism." To begin the meeting, we had all gone around the room and said what we are. The extroverts quickly spoke up, and everyone else nodded that they were introverts.

I didn't say anything at all.

I felt like an outsider. As I read the book, I deeply identified with some of the attributes that Cain described: I prefer having conversations with smaller groups of people and enjoy deep conversations more than small talk. But I also found kinship with extrovert qualities like getting energy from meeting new people and enjoying having a group's focus, like performing. I didn't and don't feel allegiance to either type of "vert." There is such a thing as an ambivert, but usually you tend to lean one way or the other. I didn't feel like I leaned much of any direction.

A few weeks ago I was feeling kind of down after I had been at a social gathering. I had talked to a lot of people and joked around. I felt a bit of the post-dance depression, the phrase we coined back in our teenage days.

I'm the girly shimmying on the side—having a good time now, but ready to hold
her head in embarrassment when she gets home. (Center for Jewish History)

post-dance depression: a low feeling of regret and embarrassment that follows animated and excited behavior at a social gathering

As I pondered why I felt that way when I usually feel more alive after chatting with people, I had the thought come to mind that I was a complex person. Sometimes I'm rowdy and animated and loud. Other times I'm quiet, pensive, and listening. I am not one or the other, and—the revelation—that's a good thing. I am both, and both sides have their strengths.

I think that is why the labels bugged me. I am a fluid creature. I am changeable and to identify with one type of personality makes me feel confined to be one type, or that behaving like one type is not behaving like the true me. If the labels help you accept yourself, use them. But I'm wondering if I should just come to terms with the fact that I am shy—oph, that was hard to type. But I'm somehow outgoing also.

Cheers,

Amanda Kae