On the cover: Kathy Bruce, Beauty, collage, private collection
A Reflection on Introversion
If I could have any superpower, I would choose invisibility. Often, maybe most of the time, I would turn it off. But sometimes, it would be on. I would walk invisibly among people, avoiding draining interactions. I would be alone but not lonely. I would be around people—their joy, their anger, their banality, their profundity—all without any cost or effort. It isn’t that I don’t like people, or that I want to spy on them. Often, it is simply easier when the interactions are metered, controlled, and safe, when I can think instead of act.
Being by myself is like invisibility. Then, the imaginary meter that measures just how draining the day was even runs backward.
I’m an introvert, and that’s okay. In fact, it’s beautiful.
* * *
There are dry, academic definitions of introversion. These definitions revolve around whether a person’s interaction with others is draining (introversion), or energizing (extroversion). Think of that meter and which way it is moving.
But those definitions are an oversimplified reductionist summary of the rich Dali-esque world of our inner selves. They fail by saying too little. They also do not capture the fact that introversion and extroversion are not binary choices. There are ranges within each one.
Writing about the purer forms, Carl Jung described extroverts as “preferring to engage with the outside world of objects, sensory perception, and action. Introverts [are] more focused on the internal world of reflection, are thoughtful and insightful.”[1]
Like writers. Like me. Like Jung himself.
Maybe like you.
* * *
Prior to my divorce in 2014, I had a marriage counselor once tell me that I was a “high functioning” introvert. I asked her if that meant she was a “high-functioning extrovert.” When she laughed, I told her that introversion wasn’t a disease. She was a good counselor in spite of that faux pas. When I came in alone and told her that I had filed for divorce, she permanently won my heart by asking, “What took you so long?”
Her statement, though, reflects a societal reality. There isn’t a “better” or “worse” between introversion and extroversion. But society teaches us that there is.
I’ve been the quiet person. standing in the corner at parties, the person who doesn’t glad hand new people at business meetings, and whose shyness led to dry spells in dating. Why on earth, some extroverts reason, would you do that? Why wouldn’t you want to talk to everyone,
share (sometimes too much) information with strangers, and meet new people. It’s sooooo much fun!!
Because I don’t want to, that’s why. I’d rather go think. The meter is running, you know.
In the “The Implicit Bias Against Introverts,”[2] Chiara Galante describes the effect that giving in to extroverted norms can have:
Wrongly, I gave in to societal pressure and accepted some friends’ invitation to go to a local (extremely crowded) festival. I didn’t want them to consider me too antisocial. It was horrible: after an hour of stress and discomfort, I reached the point of actual physical pain. I left without saying anything, I had to leave or could have collapsed. I am not sure if they have ever really understood how distressing it all was for me.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt the actual physical pain Galante describes. But I have felt the unwanted pressure to interact in a crowd, the push to introduce myself when I’d rather be alone, the desire to be elsewhere, the “when will it be over” distress. Once, I bought a ticket for a fundraising event for an organization that I support. The room was crowded, and I knew literally no one. I called to mind the basic rules of interaction – be polite, be interested, smile. But then the internal questions came. Do I approach her? Him? That Group? How do I barge into the conversation? I steeled myself and tried, but the conversations felt like verbal extensions of the “Hi, I’m David” nametag that I wore, forced and somehow lacking depth. After a couple of abortive attempts at conversations, I awkwardly waited out an hour and left.
Good times. Not.
There’s nothing wrong with the feelings that Chiara and I describe. Introversion is not a pathology. It is not a disease.
But just because it isn’t wrong, it doesn’t mean it is always comfortable, especially in a world that is wired differently.
* * *
There is a broad societal bias against introverts. Society quietly (and sometimes not so quietly) wants us to change, to be more like extroverts. Introversion is more often used as a label or a diagnosis than a descriptor. Perhaps that’s because we’re a minority – almost two-thirds of the world are extroverts, and only a little over one-third are introverts. But introversion isn’t a choice. Telling introverts to “change to be more normal” is a close cousin to telling gay people to just make the “choice” to be straight. It simply doesn’t work like that.
Introvert bias is real, but it hides itself. It is seldom overtly intentional. Most extroverts (and most introverts) aren’t even aware of the bias when it happens. “Talk up more in meetings.” “Be more assertive.” “Get out of the house more often.” “Oh come on, go to the festival with me, Chiara.” While introverts can perceive extroverts as bossy and overbearing, to an extrovert, introverts come across as aloof, antisocial, or unfriendly.
The majority always makes the rules.
In a world of introvert bias, writing a piece that is “in praise” of introversion, rather than “in defense” of introversion, which was my working title – is a revolutionary act. It is a cognitive Molotov cocktail thrown at the police line of a societal definition of “normalcy.”
Long live the revolution.
* * *
Neither introversion nor extroversion is a choice. There are actual physical differences in the brains of introverts and extroverts. First, the brains of extroverts have more dopamine receptors (the dopamine D-2 receptor if you must know) than those of introverts. Dopamine is
the “feel-good” neurochemical, the on switch to the pleasure/reward centers. More receptors translate to less sensitivity, and vice versa:
“extroverts need more dopamine to feel happy because they are less sensitive to it. The more they talk, move, and engage in stimulating activities, the more extroverts feel dopamine’s pleasant effects. In contrast, introverts are sensitive to dopamine, so all of that stimulation makes them feel overwhelmed and anxious.”[3]
In contrast, introverts have more receptors for acetylcholine receptors. Acetylcholine delivers a different type of pleasure – a relaxed, alert, content, peaceful feeling. It is released in calming, mentally engaging activity. The altered sensitivity works here, too – introverts “need” more acetylcholine, extroverts less.
If you’re keeping score, this means either extroverts and introverts both have a “disease” pathology, or neither does.
My vote is for neither.
* * *
Jung believed that entire worlds are contained in our unconscious. There isn’t, he believed, just the personal unconscious, the messenger who speaks through dreams, the internal, unseen puppet master who drives our actions while hiding in silence, the hidden vector that is both shaped by and shapes our experiences. He believed there also is a collective unconscious – an inheritance of ancestral images and archetypes that exist outside of individuals, an inheritance that spans from the dawn days of humankind to now, an immortal thing outside any individual that is the birthright of every individual.
It isn’t that introverts are “closer” to those interior worlds. The unconscious, personal or collective (if it exists), isn’t optional for anyone. Everyone is the same distance from it. The
external world isn’t optional, either. All of us are at a distance of exactly zero from it. We introverts would just prefer, at the margin, to explore the worlds inside more than the world outside of us. When we explore the outside world, we tend to do it more with ideas than actions. We build some form of distance into the exploration.
Maybe that’s why, as a fiction writer, I write more fantasy and science fiction than other genres. It allows me to create entire worlds – completely within my mind.
* * *
Why is the external world less appealing to introverts than the internal?
First, there’s the problem of conflict. Most introverts hate that.
I avoid conflict. Again, that’s normal for introverts. Meyers-Briggs, the test that began with Jung’s rich and nuanced work and then chose to reduce our souls into literally four letters, says that five introverted types – ISTJ, ISFJ, ISTP, ISFP, and INTP – score the highest on “avoidance” as a conflict strategy. Three other types – INFJ, INTJ, and INFP – have avoidance as their second most common conflict strategy. That’s all eight of the introvert types, with avoidance as a first or second conflict strategy. Introverts are three times more likely than extroverts to have avoidance as their top or second conflict mode.
In Myers-Briggs, the I is for introversion, N for intuition (as opposed to sensing), T for thinking (as opposed to feeling), and J for judging (as opposed to perceiving). I test as INTJ, with a rather pronounced “I.” All in all, those reductionist four letters describe me reasonably well:
INTJ: Have original minds and great drive for implementing their ideas and achieving their goals. Quickly see patterns in external events and develop long-range explanatory perspectives. When committed, organize a job, and carry it through. Skeptical and
independent, have high standards of competence and performance—for themselves and others.
Notice those “high standards.” For me, as is common for INTJs, that translates to perfectionism, which we’ll talk about later.
Conflict has always been demotivating and discouraging for me when it happens in person. If I can sense it coming, I’ll try to move the conversation elsewhere, to steer towards either commonalities or other topics. If I can’t, I want it to be over. Like, instantly.
Most of my career was as an “in-house” lawyer in a corporate setting. My team and I advised management, drafted contracts, interacted with hired trial lawyers when there was litigation, and interpreted the laws and regulations of multiple countries. We were one of a dozen departments, so there were the inevitable conflicts regarding resources, budget, and recognition. I hated all of those conflicts – every one of them. At one point, I had over forty people working for me. Human Resources made me rate them on a bell curve, a system that I’m sure must have been somewhere in the Marquis de Sade’s writings. It rates exactly 10% as top, exactly 10% above average, exactly 60% average, exactly 10% needs improvement, and (you guessed it) exactly 10% unacceptable. Not a percent more or less. So, literally 80-90% of people end up disappointed that their score wasn’t higher. Since the amount of the annual raise followed the annual rating, many would complain, and some would quit. Everyone understood the bell curve – but all too often took a lower-than-expected raise or rating personally. And I was its messenger.
I remember reviewing a younger, newly hired, enthusiastic lawyer who actually had a good year. He was smart, creative, and worked hard. That year, he was maybe number five or six of the forty, but at least four others had even better years. That still earned him an above average,
a rating that I was happy with the times that I received it. An above average raise and my personal thanks came with it.
Unlike me, he was disappointed, and we spent over an hour debating why he was “only” above average, and not exceptional. The dictionary definition of exceptional came into play. He demanded to know who was rated above him, and why, which was information that I could not share. I ended the meeting by telling him that I didn’t always agree with the bell curve methodology (actually I never agreed with it) and suggested that he share his own thoughts on the system with human resources.
That is, quite simply, an introvert’s nightmare. I was completely drained and had seven reviews left that day.
And don’t even get me started on conflict in relationships; that feels worse. The uncertainty. The erosion, however temporary, of a space that felt safe. The self-doubt. The “this can’t be happening.” The words that seem to land like blows.
But screw Myers-Briggs for saying that avoidance of conflict is a bad strategy. They traded their Jungian street cred for the corporate Amex with that one, in my opinion. Where is avoidance the primary conflict strategy, or a close second? That’s right, in all eight “I’s.” In effect, it’s the implicit anti-introvert bias codified.
Seriously, come on, Myers-Briggs. What’s “wrong” with wanting everyone to all just get along?
* * *
Some might say I chose an odd profession for someone who hates conflict. Law, which I practiced for over thirty years, is all about conflict, both potential and actual. The outcomes of win/lose or lose/lose are much more common than win/win.
But law can actually be an introvert’s paradise. Yes, there are the trial lawyers, the charismatic guns for hire, the real-life versions of Perry Mason, who grind witnesses to dust, or Law and Order’s Jack McCoy, who plays juries like a violin. There are those who command by force of personality, the verbally eloquent, the instantly relatable. But, behind them, there are even more of us who use ideas – the brief-writers, the deal drafters. The legal researchers who become one with dusty volumes in law libraries, who log in to Westlaw like Keanu Reeves’ character Neo jacking into the Matrix. We write, more than talk. We use logic as a weapon and print as a shield.
That was me. And I’m still writing, now creatively, putting ideas on paper for audiences that, for the most part, I never meet.
Because, and don’t take this personally, I like it that way.
* * *
If we go beyond Myers-Briggs and their four-letter simplification to the source, Jung described introversion and extroversion as “attitudes.” In his 1921 book Personality Types, he said this about introverts:
He . . . has a distinct dislike of society as soon as he finds himself among too many people. In a large gathering he feels lonely and lost. The more crowded it is, the greater becomes his resistance. . . . For him self-communings are a pleasure. His own world is a safe harbor, a carefully tended and walled-in garden, closed to the public and hidden from prying eyes. His own company is the best. He feels at home in his world, where the only changes are made by himself. His best work is done with his own resources, on his own initiative, and in his own way.
Jung described me thirty-eight years before I was born.
* * *
Introverts often feel they are “outsiders,” not part of the “in” groups they believe they observe. They may feel like they don’t belong or that they don’t fit in.
And I have always felt “outside,” like I didn’t fit in. The skinny kid, the teacher’s pet. The vociferous reader, the poor socializer. The adolescent who never had the right clothes.
It isn’t just me. In his article “Why Introverts Feel Like Outsiders,” Imed El Mokhtar writes:
For the introvert, their inner world is generally more “real” than the outside. Just like when one visits a foreign country, it may be fascinating, exciting, and even cathartic. But that country will never feel like home, and while visiting, there will always be a sense of being an outsider. Even if the visit is pleasant and everyone echoes the sentiment “you fit in here!” the tourist will always know they’re a tourist.
I once authored a story with a protagonist who was the ultimate outsider.iv He had no name, only a number – 749947. He was a telepath, one of only a few in a world of “norms,” used by a dystopian government, and feared by all. He had mirrored eyes, a detail that Jung would have had a field day with. He was less tourist and more zoo exhibit, a trained tiger. His one pleasure was a once-a-month prostitution-like transaction where he paid to “read” thoughts of love and family.
To be clear, I am not my character. Not quite. But, like many introverts, I feel the sense of being on the outside. I don’t feel it as much as 749947, surrounded by the “norms” in the imaginary world that I gave him.
But, like many introverts, I feel it enough.
* * *
No generalization is ever universally true. But on average, introverts understand themselves better. We have explored our Jungian unconscious more. We are, again, on average, perhaps a bit more authentic. We tend to be creative and focus deeply on tasks. More calm surrounds us, perhaps because of our love of conflict avoidance. We are possibly slightly more honest. As the author Susan Cain said, introverts have the power of quiet in a world that won’t stop talking, and as Stephen Hawking said, “quiet people have the loudest minds.” While introverts have fewer friends, those friendships are deep. Like Bill Gates, Steve Wozniak, Albert Einstein, and Isaac Newton, we can excel at business or be cutting-edge scientists.
Even if we’d rather not talk about it.
* * *
Shyness and introversion are commonly mistaken for each other, but they are not the same thing. Shyness is the fear of negative judgment, a close relative of social anxiety. A shy person is fearful in interactions. An introvert would simply . . . rather not interact. But one can be an outgoing introvert. That is not a contradiction. Ask Barack Obama.
Or one can be a shy introvert, as I am.
There’s bias around shyness and the more extreme version, social anxiety, as well. Shyness gets conflated with a lack of social skills or a lower social intelligence. It’s another form of the implicit anti-introvert bias. Shy people can generally read social signals perfectly well (even better if they are also introverted), but the signals are simply overlaid with fear of negative judgment. The inability to read social cues aligns more with Aspergers, not shyness or introversion. The opposite of shyness is being outgoing, not being extroverted. But there’s not great awareness of these differences, and they are often collapsed into “it’s the same.”
* * *
Perfectionism is not unique to introversion, and not all introverts are perfectionists. The Venn circles overlap, but not perfectly. But many introverts, maybe even most, are perfectionists.
I certainly am. The saying “the project is never done; it’s just that you run out of time” applies to me in spades. I’m trying to recall a project—a story, a work presentation, a home task, anything — that I was ever 100% completely satisfied with. I can’t.
Jung was not a fan of perfection:
[J]ust as lead, which theoretically could become gold, never did so in practice, so the sober-minded man of our own day looks round in vain for the possibility of final perfection. Therefore . . . he sees himself obliged to lower his pretensions a little, and instead of striving after the ideal of perfection, to content himself with the more accessible goal of approximate completeness.
It’s difficult for perfectionists to celebrate success. Almost immediately, the next challenge looms large. Was it a one-time thing? And did I really even live up to my standards here? Imposter syndrome – the psychic feeling that, because perfection was not really achieved, one does not deserve the success achieved – looms large. When I was promoted to the general counsel of my business unit, I won the role over other applicants. But, I thought, did I really belong there? Was I really the one that they should have chosen? Sure, I got to play with the big girls and boys now, but did I really belong? Why did I think this? Because I saw my imperfections as being larger than others did.
I have a recurrent dream where it is the end of a semester, and I haven’t attended one of my classes. It’s never about current classes – I am back as an undergraduate or even back in high school. If you run this type of dream through a search engine, it is amazingly common. You may even have had it yourself.
Perhaps, given how common it is, Jung would find a source in the collective unconscious and call it a modern archetype. He would almost certainly say that, for the personal unconscious, it is a message that I am missing important lessons. I prefer a simpler explanation – it is a dream fueled by perfectionism. Perfectionists have an intense fear of failure, a fear that burns itself into the unconscious and surfaces in dreams. Interestingly, multiple sources say that the dreams stop when the dreamer has a significant actual failure – the pent-up energy is gone.
The night after I wrote the above about failure dreams, I had the failure dream twice. Not content with my statement that the setting for the dream stretched back to high school, my subconscious set one in junior high school. The second time, I was attending a class in London. I wasn’t failing yet, but I had missed the first class. The teacher told us that we would be touring a building that was usually “off-limits.”
In Jungian analysis, Houses and buildings symbolize the mind. Jung interpreted his dream of two houses on Lake Zurich as representing his conscious and unconscious.
Somewhere, Jung’s ghost is laughing belly-laugh about that second dream.
I would wager that the majority of people who have the failure/unprepared dream are not only perfectionists but also introverts. We concentrate deeply, perhaps even overthinking. After all that thought, we find what we think is the perfect solution, the perfect path. We try to match the outcome in reality to the outcome in our minds. We aren’t always able to do that, and we notice when we can’t. We see it as a failure.
They say that the cure for perfectionism is simple. Instead of Bob Marley’s “Don’t Worry, be Happy,” the cure is “Don’t Worry, be Crappy.”
As if a perfectionist could ever do that.
* * *
One of Jung’s most profound quotes is, “[t]he world will ask who you are, and if you do not know, the world will tell you.”
If you are an introvert, do not let the world tell you who you are. Introversion is not a pathology. It is not something to be “cured” or “improved.” Your world and life are just as vibrant and fulfilling as those of extroverts. The world of ideas, deep thought, and creativity is what has propelled humanity from the Olduvai Gorge to the Moon.
Do not let the world tell you that you are too quiet, too aloof, or too standoffish. Do not let the world tell you that you simply lack social skills.
Instead, know that you are an introvert.
And that it is beautiful.
1. Guy-Evans, Olivia. “Introvert vs. Extrovert Personality: Signs, Theories, & Differences,” Simply Psychology, 29 Jan. 2024, https://www.simplypsychology.org/introvert-extrovert.html
2. Galante, Chiara. “The Implicit Bias against Introverts – a guide on how it exists and where it originates,” Neuroscience Graduates Colloquium, 30 Nov. 2022, https://ngc-mainz.de/blog/the-implicit-bias-against-introverts-a-guide-on-how-it-exists-and-where-it-originates
3. Hansen, Melissa, PsyD. “Introverts and Extroverts: The Brain Chemistry Behind Their Differences,” Therapy Changes, 16 Dec. 2016, https://therapychanges.com/blog/2016/12/introverts-extroverts-brain-chemistry-differences/ iv Newkirk, David. “The Mirrors of His Eyes, The Thirst of His Soul,” Literally Stories, 24 Oct. 2024, https://literallystories2014.com/2024/10/24/the-mirrors-of-his-eyes-the-thirst-of-his-soul-by-david-newkirk/
