I Like People. Just Not All of Them All the Time.

Let's clear up another misconception about introverts: As a rule, we're not antisocial, we don't hate people, we're not even necessarily bored by them, as one reader suggested here.

I'm bored by boring people. I'm bored by long stories about people I don't know, by hollow chit-chat, by anyone whose idea of conversation is a monologue.

One of the perils of living as an introvert is being cornered by boring people. It happens to me all the time. "It's like you have a sign on your back that says ‘Tell me about it,'" my husband said after rescuing me from a total stranger who was telling me all about her life at great length in the middle of an art gallery.

Because introverts are comfortable with silence, we're sitting ducks for chatterboxes. We are good listeners, or at least appear to be, even if we have retreated to our happy place in our minds while the other person prattles.

But finding some individuals boring is not the same thing as disliking people in general or finding everyone boring. It's about losing control of our scene, about being intruded upon. There's absolutely nothing wrong with finding our own thoughts more interesting than a long story about someone's husband's niece's gum surgery.

Since realizing this, I've developed strategies for regaining control of my airspace. Just admitting that I don't find everyone fascinating has been helpful. I reject the antisocial label and embrace my own discerning nature. I don't have to pretend to care if I don't. It's not that I'm rude, but I now repress my tendency to ask polite questions when I'm not actually interested in the answers. In this way, the story usually spins out to its natural end a little more quickly, freeing me to move on to conversation with someone more compelling. A person I might like.

Once I realized this was OK to do, life got a little bit better.

Actually, acknowledging and embracing our nature as introverts may open the door for better interactions with other people. If we don't expend our limited energy for socializing on unsatisfying interactions, we can put it to better use. Which reminds me of a story of my own. Please allow me to bore you with it.

Shortly after reading Introvert Power, I went to a birding festival. The four-day event had a busy schedule, and I, with my new self-awareness, decided not to sign up for the evening events, knowing that by the end of a day of interaction, I'd be wrung out. I was a little conflicted about this-would I miss out? But I gotta be me, so I participated in group events during the day, retreated to solitude in the evenings.

Despite, or because of, this "antisocial" decision, I made some new, lasting friends that weekend.

In fact, I'm certain that allowing myself time away from people also allowed me to be more open when I was with them. Had I not staked out quiet time, I would have had to stay partly shut down all the time in order to preserve some necessary mental space. Protecting my downtime in the evenings allowed me to engage in the daytime, with a wonderful payoff-the kind of deeper connections I find nourishing.

So don't tell me I'm antisocial, don't tell me people bore me, and please don't tell me about your son's neighbor's new job. Just give me some space and let me be me, and I'll find people to like.

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Copyright 2009 Sophia Dembling