The Introvert's Paradox
I’ve never been shy, per se. But that doesn’t necessarily mean I like spending time with people.
Wait.
Let me back up.
I don’t like spending time with large AMOUNTS of people. Growing up, I always favored the small birthday parties with a few close friends over the massive 30 kid ragers at Pizza Hut (RIP).
The weird part is…I always wanted to enjoy large groups of people. Whether it was cultural conditioning or what I saw in movies, it seemed like the extroverted, popular people were always the ones winning.
Besides Beast (that grouchy rich fuck), every Disney protagonist was charming and gregarious. Thomas O’Malley? C’mon, now.
I’d smash and I’m not even a cat person.
Being shy and introverted wasn’t “cool,” at least not back in the 90s. Now the tortured artist thing gets a little more play.
Back then, you were labeled antisocial and relegated to the table with kids sporting black KORN T-shirts and pants with bondage straps.
OK. Maybe I was being a bit dramatic before. I do like people. Mostly.
Especially from far.
Especially if they aren’t babies.
Especially if it’s one or two at a time. I just never seemed to get on with folks when it was more than a handful.
So I learned how to be social even when I didn’t feel especially comfortable (not a bad skill to know).
This mainly manifested when I became a teenager and began craving attention.
Looking back on it now, it makes sense. I’ve always been a gaping hole of ambition and need, finding whatever opportunities I could to perform, usually in the forms of rapping or speaking on stage.
And if I were a betting man, I’d wager this is the archetype for most entertainers.
You want to create your art and be left alone, but the yearning for validation for your work is motivation enough to slap on a smile and try to get it out there.
I suffered (still do) from terrible stage fright. But the feeling once I was in the midst of it and the high afterward is a thrill unlike any other.
Maybe you can relate.
It’s the introvert’s paradox.
We seek human connection…but not too much. There’s this sweet spot between Coachella and reading alone by candlelight that takes potentially a lifetime of trial and error to find.
In college, I lacked the self awareness to distinguish between the two.
I’d attend live concerts and go out clubbing hoping one night these events would be as much fun as they were sold to be. And fraternity basement parties? Now what’s cooler than that? (Right answer: everything).
I’d jump around and sweat on whichever girl was unlucky enough to give me a chance. That comes with the territory of being young and insecure and in college and seeking validation from strangers (a list of adjectives I’d stay that’s unfortunately still half true).
That’s what made it so challenging. I stuck up my nose at those fraternity guys, but mostly because internally, I so badly wanted to be them. What’s better than living in a house full of adolescent testosterone-fueled alcoholics? (Right answer: everything).
It wasn’t simply the social cache I was after. Or the leverage with girls, and the crazy parties. More than anything, it was the brotherhood.
And boiled down a step farther, connection with peers.
Or, what I perceived was connection, at least. Again brushing up against the dichotomy between being fiercely independent and the craving to fit in.
Over the years, the more live music shows and parties I attended, the more I understood I never liked them; I just wanted to be someone who did.
And that’s an important separation.
Because I’m the MOST on board with the “people are malleable, you can be whatever you want to be” mind over matter etc etc type belief frameworks. I’m Mr. Push Your Comfort Zone.
But there’s a fundamental line between wanting to grow to be a better version of yourself and changing because you think you should.
On this journey of self-development, I’m constantly torn between self-acceptance and apathy. Where’s the line between being who you are and not abandoning who you want to become?
For introverts, this is a tricky balance to find. Walking down the street in NYC, Medellin, or (insert your favorite city here), I’ll see groups of millennials hanging out in large groups and think, “That looks like so much fun. Why... isn’t it?”
As an introvert you constantly feel like an outsider. A fraud. A faulty operating system inside a functional meat suit. You know the scripts you’re supposed to run, but the code never computes to the output for an enjoyable evening (and with analogies like that I wonder why I’m still single lol).
Whenever I am convinced to go out (usually motivated by a desire for female companionship), I spend most of the evening in my head battling between “Just loosen up, this is fun right?” and “Why am I here?”
—
While I still believe that our character traits are more flexible than we think, I’ve also become more comfortable leaning into the parts of myself that feel most natural.
And one of those is my self-identity as someone who needs large quantities of time alone.
Maybe I become more sensitive as I get older. It’s difficult to put myself in the headspace of YuNG KiA. I can’t recall if I ever liked big crowds (unless I was performing in front of them), but I certainly spent more time trying to like them back then.
These days I “can’t be fussed,” as my posh British friends say. Yeah, I still get a little jealous thinking about the folks who have large groups of friends and enjoy nights out on the town together.
But the energy trying to turn that vision into reality simply isn’t worth the effort anymore. I’ve stopped trying to force it. This change has been a powerful stake in the ground for me.
Understanding that our time here is limited, we might as well spend it doing activities that bring us energy, not drain it.
You only have so many fucks to give.
If that means another Saturday night watching baroque documentaries in the “Staff Picks” section of Vimeo, so be it.
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