Before my parents and I went to Colorado, I stopped by one of the several awesome independent bookstores in their new Kansas town and purchased Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking. Now, I rarely read nonfiction (although I seem to be dabbling more and more), but the subject is near and dear to my heart, in particular after a year spent in a very loud, boisterous workplace. An added bonus was the fact that the author, Susan Cain, went to Princeton as well.
I should pause and say that I've been thinking about what I'm about to say for about a week now, and that I only really started gathering my thoughts while on the phone with my friend M about three hours ago. This foray into articulation may spawn more blog posts or it may not. It's still a relatively recent thought although--and this might help me to express it--I've been trying to understand the questions surrounding this topic for my entire life.
I should also say that I'm not done with the book yet. Hence the already deep imperfection of this post. I started reading it, and then my mom stole it, read it, and returned it. By then I was already deep in something else. On the bright side: no spoilers! One possible problem: I will be making some pretty obvious snap judgements.
With all that being said, let me lay things out for the more visually inclined.
This is the book I started reading:
This is what it has been like so far:
This is what I wanted it to be like:
That last image is from the Inspector Lewis episode "The Indelible Stain." I love Lewis, not just because it's on the artist formerly known as Masterpiece Theater but because it's smart, well-written for the most part, and, well, quiet.
Most of the quiet is due to the fact the Inspector Lewis' sergeant and sidekick is James Hathaway (played by Laurence Fox, pictured above). Hathaway used to be an Episcopalian seminary student. He left for reasons unraveled (or not) over the course of the show's long run. Hathaway was also a student at Cambridge of some academic repute. Hathaway likes chamber music, walking around Oxford, having pints with friends, and good literature. The screenshot I've selected above came from the beginning of last week's episode. While Lewis stood in a crowded pub and watched a match, Hathaway sat in his flat, had a drink, and contemplated a stack of books. I'm sure many people watching found it a somewhat depressing juxtaposition. I thought it was the most calming image I'd seen all week.
By the end of the episode, Hathaway had gently declined Lewis' offer to join him at the pub for another game in favor of returning home and finishing his book. It's not that Lewis and Hathaway don't socialize, it's just that Hathaway doesn't want to this one time. Lewis, to his credit, accepts this, one of the many reasons their friendship is one of my favorites on television.
I wish Quiet had some of the meditative qualities Hathaway brings to Inspector Lewis. That's what I wanted, even though I'm not sure I had the right to expect it. Quiet is very upfront about what kind of book it is. It is concerned with the cultural impact of the extrovert/introvert divide and the ways both introverts and extroverts can use their innate skills in every professional realm. Introverts, Cain says, may be swimming against the current of the Extrovert Ideal, but they don't have to be. It's time for a paradigm shift, she says. All that is fine, and I knew to expect it, but I think by the time I settled down with the book at the cabin in Colorado (a place, by the way, designed, intentionally or unintentionally, as a paradise for both introverts and extroverts) the book I needed and wanted and the book I had were no longer the same.
Cain and I agree on at least one thing: people learn by example. Her use of specific anecdotes is the best thing I've encountered in the book so far, and not just because this entire topic is grounded in such personal things as genetics (more on the science in a second), identity, and, vaguest and most important, how people feel (more on that now).
I am on page thirty one of Quiet, and already Cain has told me that I'm all right something like five times. Yes, Ms. Cain, I know I'm all right. In fact, I'm pretty damn fabulous. The day they print a pamphlet for my general brand of introversion, I'm going to be on the cover. I think everyone has moments of doubt and moments where they compare themselves to others, but I have never thought of the way I charge and recharge my batteries as anything less than a blessing. So I'm good, thanks.
I don't want to learn by being told; I want to learn by seeing. What I want now, in my hands, is a book of essays. These essays would be written by introverts, but that wouldn't necessarily come up. These essays would be meditations on quiet and noise and the intersections of the two. Maybe one piece would be written by a Hathaway type, who has friends and a job and who doesn't have everything figured out but who nonetheless does pretty well for himself. Maybe this person values those things, but occasionally just wants to retreat to his flat (calm, IKEA interiors, soft chairs, cool air, tea kettle) and read. I want to read quiet people's observations on a range of things, not just the workplace, the ivory tower, and the public sphere. I want to see these people carving out their niches in, on, around, and outside of the swim; wherever they want to be, that's where I want to see them succeeding.
My mom occasionally talks about the life of the mind. She mentioned it once--I don't remember the context--to our neighbor, a meditative guy, and he was very struck by the image. It wasn't until then that I realized there was a word for the way I felt on the playground in elementary school: I'll play with you if you want, but there's going to have to be at least one day a week where I play alone, thank you very much.
Not everyone has had this revelation. Not everyone has stopped beating themselves up when they can't hop from social event to social event to social event to social event without pausing in between to take stock. To those people I would say, check out Quiet. It seems like a pretty good book, all told. It's got a lot of people talking; even The Atlantic has started telling people to hire more introverts. I'll definitely pick it up again and finish it. I'll probably like it, even though I might start tearing out my hair when she tries to buck me up yet again.
And oh, right, I was going to talk about science. This one goes out to Roommate J, who was always the first (well, second or third if certain other roommates were there) to question the logic of things. I want to know more about this. I think it's awesome that Cain is basing her definitions of introvert and extrovert in Jung, because I kind of like the guy, but I would also like some scientific grounding (if applicable, but you don't even say if it is or not) right off the bat. I don't want to live in suspense and wonder whether Rosa Parks called herself an introvert, whether someone developed some Kinsey-esque scale and placed her on it, or whether Cain is making her own assumptions. If there is no mind-blowing science, I would rather just read Jung. I would rather contemplate identity, not read about what I can do to shine in board meetings, because that kind of thing stresses me out. (And, yes, I know that's because I'm an introvert, but I also know how to humorously rock the house right off the board meeting, so that's taken care of.)
Susan Cain may be a role model. Her book may be full of good ideas. There may be a person out there who needs repeated reassurance and that's fine. For my part, even though I hope to live a life as full as Cain's, for now I look to Hathaway and his tea-drinking, book-reading peace.
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