Let’s talk a little about the word (or label) “shy“.
I know this label well. Despite all evidence to the contrary now, when I was a child, I was labelled (and I often thought, but didn’t always care, wrongly so) as the “shy” one. You know how family dynamics works sometimes right? One child is the funny outgoing one, and the other takes on a different persona – mine, supposedly, was being shy.
Although already one to argue a point (to the death if need be) at such a young age, I didn’t mind so much being labelled as such. Why? Because it meant people left me alone and I was free to be with those people who I wanted to be with. Sounds like a snobbish thing to do? Ah, another label I’m familiar with.
I was neither though.
Not shy, nor a snob.
I was, is, am, an introvert.
And no, that is not a label. It’s simply… A state of affairs. A state of mind.
People mistake being an introvert for shyness all the time. It’s easy after all to just pass off someone’s apparent lack of interest in engaging in something as a sign of shyness, rather than as a choice. Once, back in high school – and I remember this conversation clearly although I forget who I was talking with at the time because I remember feeling fed up with all the misconception behind my undeniable silence (then) at times – we had one of those in classroom exercises where you’re told to ask your classmates to describe you, and one girl said she thinks I’m a clam because I don’t talk to her and I’m so quiet. I could have used a lesson in tact and diplomacy back then, but I remember saying just matter-of-factly, “the only reason I’m quiet and don’t talk to you is because I don’t want to. There are other people I find more interesting to talk to.”
A zinger although not meant to be one. And like I said, I don’t remember who I was talking with at the time – it was a long time ago. But for whatever it’s worth, I offer my sincerest of apologies today. I meant no harm. But, I digress.
Back to the topic at hand then…Thing is, I happen to like being an introvert. I credit it for the strength of heart, mind, and soul I’ve developed thru the years to push past obstacles and succeed in the things I set out to do. Because I draw my strength from within, from having time alone, from being with myself… I’ve come to know more and more of myself as years wore on and I know, acutely sometimes, where I am strong, and where I am weak. More importantly, in my company, I am and can be, quite content.
I’ve come to accept that I was never shy and have forgiven those who insisted on labeling me so and myself as well for buying into the whole thing for a while. I’ve come to accept that I was merely…not interested at most of the things that were going on around me and in my life during those times. I hadn’t figured out what and where my passions lay. I had glimpses of it – and I again, I credit my being an introvert with the awareness I gained slowly and surely of what they are.
Don’t get me wrong though, this not to say being an introvert is better than being an extrovert. This isn’t a competition. I am merely stating my own circumstances. And why, I feel, think, and know… I happen to love being one.
It still amuses me when I remind people that I’m actually an introvert and they get this confused look in their eyes even as they praise me for my “extrovertism” – how friendly I am, how approachable and easy to get to know and get along with, how much of a people person I seem to be, and therefore, I should be an extrovert because of all these “facts”. I just smile, because I know that those “facts” were never mutually exclusive concepts with being an introvert.
It just means, while I love being with people, getting to know their stories, enjoy making friends out of strangers (and apparently kissing random ones – but that’s for another post), I need, at the very least, 2 days in a week…by and with myself. Just me. No one else is invited.
Then I’ll get back to you. And everybody else. And I’d most likely want the attention focused on me…
But if you see me on the dance floor, I think you won’t argue the point anymore… because while I’d probably be in the center of the room, I’d be happy enough to just be dancing with myself, my eyes closed as I am transported to my own world.
And no, I wouldn’t be drunk then. Just perfectly comfortable in my skin.
Be gentle nudging me back though. Or most likely, I’d end up kissing you.
