1999.07/02 Introvertive Conversational Inhibitors

EXCERPTED FROM MESSAGE TO MYFANWY 

} Questions are always a help.  It's hard to come to the right answer
} without knowing the question.  So here is my attempt at explaining myself
} and my situation (although it seems you understand a fair bit already.)

Have you ever played the RPG Paranoia?  "Question Everything.  Shoot Trouble.
The Computer is Your Friend."  :-)

} It's hard for me to describe being in love when I am generally so far
} removed from my emotions, but here goes.  Actually, maybe that was part of
} it, that I "felt" more than usual.  Anyway, before Chris and I began going
} out I noticed I was more and more wrapped up in him.  I spent hours just
} thinking of him, wrote tomes in my diary, found the world to be a brighter
} place.  That is, poetry became a reality.  There was also a physical
} aspect.  I had never felt chemistry with anyone before (or since).  I was
} incredibly attracted to him, even sweat-soaked after a basketball game.  I
} would practically melt at a single touch of his hand.  And this was
} especially strange since it is _very_ rare that I find any man physically
} attractive.  I don't look around a party and pick out the "cuties" with my
} girlfriends.  I've always gone out with the people I found intellectually
} attractive _despite_ the complete lack of physical attraction.  I'm not
} saying that  I dated ugly men, just that I don't seem to be attracted to
} very many at all.  So, "in love" to me was both a mental haze of
} benevolent thought and a very intense physical attraction I had never felt
} before. (For clarity's sake I should mention he was not my first sexual
} partner. I don't fall into the category of women becoming overly attached
} to their first partner.)

  It appears that you fall into a closely related category, though,
namely "people feeling intense emotion for the first time".  Several of your
actions (becoming enamored and engrossed, defense of the beloved's
questionable actions, allowing painful situations to continue in order to be
with the loved one, etc.) are characteristic of that set.

Face it.  You've been bitten big by the smitten bug.  Your brains have turned
to mush under the weight of your crush.  ;-)

[introversion]
} I suppose I really should come up with a different term.  I don't think of
} introverts as being in any way lesser beings compared to extroverts, but
} the term is a convenient phrase for me to express my social withdrawal.
} It is not necessarily connected with physical isolation at all.  It simply
} means I fall into a pattern.  I suddenlyfind the activation energy to meet
} someone an order of magnitude higher than I could possibly muster.  The
} open expression on my face changes to one where I attempt to be as
} non-descript as possible so that I can avoid a conversation, not knowing
} how to get out of one or even continue one if I somehow became a part of
} one.  The small talk center of my brain shuts off and I dwell in tighter
} and tighter circles of introspection.  And for me that means I am unhappy
} and lonely and don't know any longer how to change.

You paint a poignant picture.  You should know that many people feel as you
do, even those who are seemingly adroit in any social encounter.  The
condition is common among intellectuals and perfectionists, and even moreso
the combination.  It is particularly insidious because the paralytic feelings
robs us of our voice, one of the few things that allow us to be happily
connected to others.

Take heart.  You are *not* alone, and you *can* change.  There are usually
three main ingredients to the introversion you describe:
  1) self-conscious expectation
  2) selective emotional reinforcement
  3) disconnective triggers

Understanding the first is by far the most important.  All too often we
expect more of ourselves than is reasonable to do so, and this persistent
unmet expectation that causes us no end of grief.  For example, when I was
younger I lived in a world of voices.  I had interesting conversation with
every person I met, and could instantly connect with anyone around me.  Quite
naturally, I unconsciously formed the opinion that this is what my
interactions with people should be like.

As time passed there were increasing divergences from the template.  A
conversation would end and I wouldn't know what to say.  Short sallies into
starting another would be driven back by a horde of silence.  What was wrong
with me?  Was I becoming uninteresting?  At odd moments I would be abstracted
and feel disconnected and feel even worse because of my seeming inability to
reconnect.  Didn't other people like me anymore?  Maybe if I exert myself
just a little bit more...

It wasn't until years later that I discovered that not only was my
expectation not the norm but also that many people found an endless stream of
patter annoying, off-putting, and undesirable.  Have you seen the movie
'Fargo'?  Its slow paced delivery of dialogue interspersed with long
stretches of silence is faithful to how midwesterners actually talk.  They
speak when they have something to say and don't feel the need to "fill
silence".

Moreover, people have a "mood" to talk.  Sometimes they feel gregarious and
outgoing and other times they don't, for whatever reason(s).  The premise
itself is simple and easily verified, but it was a shock to learn that it
also applied to *me*.  I, who was once an energetic conversational
juggernaut, would occasionally not want to talk to anybody about anything.
Even when I did want to talk it became more difficult if I was worried, or
distracted, or depressed, or...

It is unreasonable to expect to be "switched on" for conversation all the
time, or that every dialogue must be a spectacularly meaningful one.  Nor do
you have to be constantly witty, charming, interesting, exciting, deep, or
funny.  Changing the expectation of what conversations can be like (i.e. what
we will comfortably allow them to be like) relieves a lot of the performance
anxiety that, ironically, leads to the deterioration of conversation.

This root spawns many branches.  For awhile I continued to hold myself my
unattainable standard and inadvertantly allowed a degenerative cycle to form.
I would focus in on each "failed" conversation and feel worse after each one.
The accumulation of negative feelings made it harder to have an easy
conversation.  Like Ourobos the cycle fed on its own tail, growing larger.

After awhile it became easy to forget that the vast majority of my
interactions went great.  I didn't receive a charge from conversations like I
used to; after all, I was barely meeting my baseline expectation, wasn't I?
Emotion fixes events in our memory, and rather than feeling good after a
lively conversation I would feel barely adequate.

Occasionally I would be my "old self"... but at a cost of a high energy to
maintain the state.  An element of near-deception developed.  The "old me"
was almost a facade that I would present to the world because the "real me"
was apparently unlovable and unlivable.  It became easier to avoid people
than to expend the enormous energy it seemed to take to talk to them... and
that way I could avoid guilt over misrepresenting myself, too.

A shift of perspective can create a generative cycle and eliminate the drain.
The overwhelming majority of speech in the world is one-way drivel, a
depressing percentage of interactions hostile and / or abusive.  If you've
had a civil interchange, no matter how short and no matter how it 'ends',
congratulate yourself.  If you've cracked a joke, offered an insight,
listened to one who need to be heard, made someone feel good, changed an
opinion, just plain *touched* someone in the slightest way, reward yourself.
You've just made the world a better place.  Let yourself enjoy it.

The last, and most intolerable, stage of introversion occurs when negative
emotional reactions are anticipated.  Like any animal, we learn to seek
situations that gratify us and avoid those that harm us.  If we feel bad
during conversations, we become conditioned to feel bad.  We'll avoid people
just so that we don't have to talk with them and risk the possibility.

Once the response is habituated, things get blown out of proportion.  The
slightest inconsequential bump in the conversation (a moment of silence, an
inadvertant offense, phasing into boredom, etc.) can trigger a huge flight
response (Aargh!  It's happening again!  What do I do?  I don't know what to
say!  I must escape this!).  At that point, we become so enwrapped in
containing ourselves that there is little left over to hold a conversation,
further validating the self-fulfilling prophecy.

The only way to deal with this is to change the response.  Fight, dammit!
Break the pattern!  Are you going to let unfounded emotional detritus ruin
your life?  Force you into miserable lonely seclusion?  Change you from a
vibrant singing nightengale into a withered bitter hag?  NO!  The moment you
feel that ennui creep over you, fight it tooth and nail with everything at
your command, like your life depends on it.  Because it does.

Moreover, that person in front of you is your greatest ally in this battle.
Your discomfort does not originate from them (as you may have associated),
but rather from the damnable habit of introversion left too long to fester.
Your conversational partner can help you.  Focus.  Get curious about them.
Find out what moves them, shakes them, interests them.  And before you know
it, your internal crisis will subside and you'll be left with an entry into a
rip-roaring conversation.

Hark!  The Bell Tolls.

Actually, my alarm clock just went off and I have to dash to pick up Sonny
from the JFK airport.  E[Next e-connection] ~ 4 days.

Ciao!