From the archives: an introvert's confession
Re-sharing "Quiet, please - I'm having a conversation with myself"
Happy Friday. I was working on a story about the impermanence of the made world, but it wasn’t coming together. Not yet, anyway. So, I decided to scroll back through the archives for a post to re-share. This time, I looked way back to nearly the beginning of this newsletter and found this formerly subscribers-only story. Occasionally, I open up and share more vulnerable pieces like this. I should do it more often. ~JRC
"Quiet! I can't stand noise!" From Rock-a-bye Bear (1952), by Tex Avery. MGM.
Quiet, please - I'm having a conversation with myself
The interruptions of daily life can shatter an introvert's concentration
First published September 7th, 2020, as a subscribers-only story
Those who know me well know that I'm an introvert. My alone time is some of the best time I have each day. Without it, I am irritable or worse.
But this solitary time is not a mindless shutdown. Instead, my inner conversation is often in overdrive while alone. Even the slightest interruption can feel like an earthquake when I'm by myself, thinking.
It can be frustrating when an actual conversation is interrupted. Engaged in lively talk, two or more people are sharing thoughts. Suddenly, someone else butts in. Such intrusions are rarely intentional; the offending party often apologizes and moves on. But the damage is done. Derailed, one conversationist asks, "What was I saying?" The discussion must somehow begin anew.
Disruptions to my alone thoughts can feel equally jarring.
While I gain much from discussions with others, I need to retreat and mill over ideas to make sense of things. Introverts, in general, tend to formulate ideas internally, whereas extroverts often do so externally. Conversation can enhance anyone's understanding, but it can also do the opposite for those like me.
"Quiet, please. I need time to think," I often say. If it's a really challenging time, I leave off the "please."
It's not only people that can disrupt my inner dialog. Daily noises are a real distraction, too. And I've become hyper-aware of how loud my neighborhood is, now that I work from home.
Diesel trucks motor by; planes and helicopters buzz overhead; countless dogs bark; occasional sirens that inspire more barking - it's a never-ending cacophony of sound.
And then there are the table saws, routers, and band saws whirring away. Oh wait, that’s me.
All this racket (even sometimes my own) takes me from the moment and away from my ideas.
Non-introverts find it hard to understand why disruptions can be so distressing. My most extroverted friends rarely seem bothered at all when interrupted. Everyday sounds are just background noise to them. And unlike me, they relish the chance to talk, often while busy.
For many, it’s hard to understand that someone so calm outside could be so busy inside.
While writing, my thoughts gallop about, requiring intense concentration to harness them. And in the shop, making is a multidimensional tsunami of ideas; concepts flood my head while creating. Even the most benign interruption during these moments - a kind “hello,” for example - can unravel my concentration. Woe betide the friend who interrupts my work!
I wish I were less bothered by noise. It feels like a handicap at times. And I think it makes me less approachable for those who don't understand.
I'm reminded of Joe Bear from the Tex Avery cartoon Rock-A-bye Bear (1952). In the episode, a bear (Joe) is trying to hibernate but is repeatedly interrupted by noises. He's grumpy and short-tempered because of them.
I don't want to be Joe Bear. I just want some time to think.
Over the last several months, I have been keenly aware of the "COVID quiet." With everything shutting down, the daily noises of modern life almost disappeared.
Traffic ceased for a time. And with fewer people driving, fewer accidents happened, and far fewer emergency vehicles responded. Without all the sirens, neighborhood dogs quietly snoozed away. Having their owners at home, I'm sure, kept them quieter, too.
For me, quarantine has not been all bad. And I’ve felt a bit guilty for this. But silence is golden, as they say. And introverts struck it rich, for a while, in this Time of COVID.
But normalcy is slowly returning, and with it, the noises. We are living in the modern world, and I inhabit a bustling corner of this planet. I am part of the noise myself. San Diego County is full of people and sounds. And I must cope if I am to live here, not retreat because of the commotion.
As a writer, if I had my druthers, I'd be off in the mountains or desert somewhere, typing away. But I'm also a maker, and making requires more than a keyboard. I need all kinds of supplies, and while Amazon services a lot of my creativity, so too do the excellent material supply stores in my area. Being able to run out and pick up a sheet of acrylic or some M6 bolts is priceless.
There are real benefits to being in Southern California. Despite the noisy interruptions.
I’m writing this story as part confession, part explanation, and part apology. My sensitivity to disruption is ever-present in my life, and it affects not only me but those around me.
The confession is I am an introvert, and learning to be confident in this. I know my creativity goes hand in hand with being this way. For too long, an extroverted world has forced me to play by its rules. But now, I am embracing my quiet inspiration, focused on writing and making. The [inner] conversation feels good.
If you aren't introverted, maybe my sharing this story has opened your eyes a bit. That's the explanation part. Perhaps you weren't aware of what being "deep in thought" means for folks like me. And possibly you'll cut us a little more slack when we seem less inclined to talk the next we meet.
As for the apology, this is for anyone I've ever snapped at when interrupted. I know you didn't mean to crash my thoughts. You probably were unaware of how engrossed I was in something. Why would you? It looked like I wasn't doing anything at all.
But I was. I was busy in private discourse. It was a good discussion, too - between me, myself and I. Your interruption is forgivable, of course. But please, let me get back to the conversation.
Now...what did I just say to myself?
Until next time.
JRC