I don't know if it's moving to a new city, finally prying off Depression's fingers from around my neck, or second puberty—probably all of the above—but it's been brought to my attention that a core feature of my personality metamorphosed. "You lied!" my roommates laughingly accused me. Utterly shocked, flabbergasted, nearly speechless, I could only choke out a weak, "No, I did not!" But the truth was clear: 16Personalities declared me an extrovert. An ugly feeling of discomfort and irritation bubbled up… and I wasn't sure why. Such sulking certainly wasn't directed at my roommates. So, where was this ember of indignation coming from?
I’ve been an introvert for as long as I can remember, but truthfully, after spending my first few weeks in New York running from work to club to dinner party, some corner of my intuition whispered back a gentle confirmation that I might not be who I thought I was. Psychology-backed personality tests, "what type of cake are you?" Buzzfeed quizzes, and Glennon Doyle's podcasts have captured my attention for years. As if the results of such exams were self-defining contracts I naively signed with myself long ago, agreements that this intensely transitional period of my life has left me wanting to renegotiate. This agreement my twenty-one-year-old self hastily made laid out insecurities about who I had been, who I irrefutably must be, and the parameters of personal change that my haughty higher self would tolerate. I should've read the fine print because all of it was complete bullshit. Nothing in my limited, underdeveloped brain could've predicted the kind of woman I've joined hands with today.
As many young adults have expressed since the pandemic hit, the past few years feel like a whirlwind of lost time. Now, it's as if a rubber band snapped me back into a social interaction frenzy, desperate to play catch up. In that haze of early twenties life mania, I lost touch with myself, if just for a moment, and it turned out to be the best thing I could've done. I’m no longer who I thought I was. I had prided myself on intimately perceiving every fragment of my innermost self, but with this new understanding comes a frantic flood of world-shaking questions. What other qualities are no longer relevant to the new me? Have I fallen away from who I am? What's my 'real' Meyers-Briggs personality type? Do I have to give up this part of myself that I fought so hard to love?
As it turns out, I owe my dear co-tenants a sincere thank you for pointing out something so character-defining (and otherwise unnoticed) as extroversion in my behavior. Their unfiltered observation of me serves as a reminder that I’m not (and neither are you) a static creature cursed with a one-dimensional existence. Like every other facet of humanity, extroversion and introversion operate on a fluid scale. Even though I could never fathom enjoying a packed calendar as a kid, it doesn’t mean I’m starting from square one on my self-actualization adventure as a socialite. Besides, coming to terms with your unexpected, badass, limitless potential is a bit of an adrenaline rush, and should Solitude take the back seat for a minute, I'll know self-care nights and solo trips are never far away.
I've always heard how you recharge defines whether you're intro or extro. Introverts (self included) can absolutely love being with people: old friends, complete strangers, audiences, parties, concerts. To recharge, however, refresh, re-energize, introverts require solitude. Extroverts, on the other hand, re-charge among people; contact with people re-fuels them. Personally, I believe we change depending on circumstance: time spent with a trusted, tranquil friend, for instance, can re-charge an introvert. xx