2008 Woodie Awards
The lifelong battle of the introvert
Nicole Amaral '10
Issue date: 2/22/07 Section: Portfolio
- Page 1 of 1
Anyone who knows me can attest to the fact that I'm not a big talker. "Quiet" is an adjective that has followed me tenaciously since elementary school, despite efforts to shake it.
"Why are you so quiet?" people will ask, as though it's some sort of character flaw. Having lived and learned as the "quiet girl" for so long, eventually I decided to confront and embrace it. For all of you out there who say your one bit in a conversation then drift back into obscurity, this one's for you.
I have to wonder what's so bad about being quiet. Why is skill at small talk the measure of normality? In general, being extroverted is looked upon as being "normal," while us quiet people are left to feel like there's something psychologically wrong with us. It seems like it's our lot in life to live in the shadow of those gifted individuals who can instantly become best friends with everyone and mother. I, however, beg to differ. It's not easy being quiet, but someone's got to do it or else everyone would be trying to talk each other's ears off and the world would be a terribly strange, not to mention loud, place.
I'm not shy-I just don't like to talk a lot. It's not a condition or a problem, it's just who I am. So, one day I decided to answer the oft-repeated "Why are you so quiet?" question. I paused for a moment, and replied with:
"Why are you so . . . not quiet?" It seemed like a perfectly stupid thing to say at the time, but it ended up working to my advantage. My interrogator looked puzzled. "I just am," was his confident reply.
"Exactly," I said. "I'm quiet because I just am. There's no complex reason."
Another thing that irks me is when someone tells me to, "Speak up!" I'll speak up when I'm good and ready, thank you very much. As a quiet person-or to use the proper terminology, as an introvert-I need a moment to think. When I don't have time to think, I get hopelessly awkward. If some friendly person tries to chat with me in the elevator, I either make some irrelevant comment about the weather or simply spew out verbal nonsense while praying that I will arrive at my floor before that miserable post-conversation silence sets in. Moments like this used to make me curse my existence, but now all I can do is laugh at myself. It's as though I'm in my own little comedy, in which I star as the lead bumbling idiot who will in some marvelously cliché way arrive at a happy ending.
But, just because I'm a quiet person doesn't mean I'm quiet all the time. When I'm with my best friend, I'm downright obnoxiously loud. Other friends are embarrassed to be seen with us in restaurants. For quiet people and even for people in general, it's obviously easier to be yourself around close friends and family than someone you just met.
All I ask of my extroverted brethren is to be patient with us quiet people. Don't assume we're weird or snobbish because we don't return your conversational fervor. Give us a chance; don't write us off as shy. You might be surprised to hear how much we have to say.
"Why are you so quiet?" people will ask, as though it's some sort of character flaw. Having lived and learned as the "quiet girl" for so long, eventually I decided to confront and embrace it. For all of you out there who say your one bit in a conversation then drift back into obscurity, this one's for you.
I have to wonder what's so bad about being quiet. Why is skill at small talk the measure of normality? In general, being extroverted is looked upon as being "normal," while us quiet people are left to feel like there's something psychologically wrong with us. It seems like it's our lot in life to live in the shadow of those gifted individuals who can instantly become best friends with everyone and mother. I, however, beg to differ. It's not easy being quiet, but someone's got to do it or else everyone would be trying to talk each other's ears off and the world would be a terribly strange, not to mention loud, place.
I'm not shy-I just don't like to talk a lot. It's not a condition or a problem, it's just who I am. So, one day I decided to answer the oft-repeated "Why are you so quiet?" question. I paused for a moment, and replied with:
"Why are you so . . . not quiet?" It seemed like a perfectly stupid thing to say at the time, but it ended up working to my advantage. My interrogator looked puzzled. "I just am," was his confident reply.
"Exactly," I said. "I'm quiet because I just am. There's no complex reason."
Another thing that irks me is when someone tells me to, "Speak up!" I'll speak up when I'm good and ready, thank you very much. As a quiet person-or to use the proper terminology, as an introvert-I need a moment to think. When I don't have time to think, I get hopelessly awkward. If some friendly person tries to chat with me in the elevator, I either make some irrelevant comment about the weather or simply spew out verbal nonsense while praying that I will arrive at my floor before that miserable post-conversation silence sets in. Moments like this used to make me curse my existence, but now all I can do is laugh at myself. It's as though I'm in my own little comedy, in which I star as the lead bumbling idiot who will in some marvelously cliché way arrive at a happy ending.
But, just because I'm a quiet person doesn't mean I'm quiet all the time. When I'm with my best friend, I'm downright obnoxiously loud. Other friends are embarrassed to be seen with us in restaurants. For quiet people and even for people in general, it's obviously easier to be yourself around close friends and family than someone you just met.
All I ask of my extroverted brethren is to be patient with us quiet people. Don't assume we're weird or snobbish because we don't return your conversational fervor. Give us a chance; don't write us off as shy. You might be surprised to hear how much we have to say.