Soothing the Introvert Brain

I am an introvert. The list of events and circumstances in which I've faded, grown quiet, left a room, or socially stumbled in the face of too much activity, conversation, and stimuli is long.

My need for quiet time is crucial — to recharge my energy, to imagine, envision, and summon even the next words typed here on this page.

So when I became overwhelmed by the sudden swarm of guests at our stepdaughter's wedding celebration, I looked around the beautiful hilltop setting in search of a place to recalibrate my urge to disappear.

Turning away from the crowd, there it was: a wooden swing secured to a great spreading oak tree by sturdy ropes. I felt the noise and years evaporate as I pushed off, leaned back and pumped my way into the air like a five-year old, that launching into space, alone and free, still alive in my cells.

I stayed awhile, swinging, enjoying the long view to the Pacific Ocean, the breeze that sung through the leaves of the oak.

A friend of the bride's caught me unawares, gifting me with a photo in the act of soothing, quieting, and readying myself for the moment when I strolled over to my assigned seat, and surprised myself by enjoying stimulating conversations with strangers throughout the dinner .

Introverts can enjoy large gatherings, share our thoughts in front of others, and ask engaging questions. We just have to prepare ourselves to enter into what isn't natural for us.

Psychologists have found that quietly being alone is essential for most creatives' imaginative process. I say this because Susan Cain, author of Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking, changed my life when I read her book in 2013.

Instead of feeling something was horribly wrong with me, the discovery I live on this planet with approximately 33-50% other introverts was a life-changer, one that has led me to accepting myself as I am, learning adaptability is an incredibly useful skill, and most recently, inscribing those calming minutes on a swing under a giant oak tree into memory.

Photo by Megan Michelson