Throughout my childhood, I don’t recall having more than one close friend at any given time; I just wasn’t very good with people. I rarely found myself in any kind of group setting outside of school and was often absorbed in my own thoughts.<\/span><\/p>\n My weekends were spent at home, playing with my brother or reading alone.<\/span><\/p>\n I thought that my being an introvert necessarily meant that I did not enjoy the company of others. I manifested this conclusion in a kind of stoicism – a nonchalant aloofness and a rejection of company. But I was also lonely. Although I stubbornly refused to acknowledge it, there were times when I felt desperate for human connection. It seemed so confusing and paradoxical to me: introverts were supposed to <\/span>like <\/span><\/i>being alone. <\/span><\/p>\n It turns out, that\u2019s not at all what introverts are \u201csupposed\u201d to like at all. Being introverted isn\u2019t about hating people – it is formally defined by the direction of energy when you interact with others. More specifically, introverts expend energy when they are around people, and they recharge in their time alone. The reverse holds true for extroverts. <\/span><\/p>\n More importantly, introvert-extrovert designations are less of a dichotomy and more of a continuum; every individual moves along this spectrum, and is not bound by a singularly determined, innate predisposition. This was a fairly obvious, but recent, epiphany for me – something that I had not realized until it was pointed out to me explicitly.<\/span><\/p>\n Late in my sophomore year of college, I decided to try something different; I joined a handful of clubs, struck up conversation with strangers, and filled up my calendar with social events. To be honest, the experience was uncomfortable, stressful, embarrassing, and frustrating. But as a result of my little experiment, I learned just how emotionally <\/span>un<\/span><\/i>intelligent I was.<\/span><\/p>\n In hindsight, the approach I took was not kind to my emotional well-being. However, the point I wish to make here is that I made a crucial discovery: through practice, I could learn how to become better, maybe even <\/span>good<\/i><\/b>, at connecting with people – this was a skill that I could <\/span>acquire<\/span><\/i>. Of course, there are those who are born with a natural charisma and magnetism, and I certainly did not fit that mould. But I could defy the shy and timid personality that characterized my younger years, and be rewarded with the satisfaction of breaking free from this box that I had built for myself.<\/span><\/p>\n For those that know me today, I daresay that I come off as a fairly well-adjusted and outgoing young adult: I\u2019m passionate about building community, thrive in good company, and am borderline garrulous around strangers. But I am no less of an introvert for it. <\/span><\/p>\nIn considering all of this, it didn\u2019t escape me that modern cultures seem to favor an \u201cExtrovert Ideal,\u201d encouraging brazen declarations of self-confidence. Sometimes I felt like I was born as a mildly defective human being.<\/span><\/h4>\n
I wasn\u2019t necessarily trying to become an extrovert; I was simply training and refining the social skills that I already possessed. <\/span><\/h4>\n