Simply Me: Crazy About Grapes

I want to be Ernie. But I am Burt. I don't want to be Monk anymore, I want to be Sharona for awhile. I want to be creative and playful and carefree. But I am anxious, nervous and neurotic. I want to be the artsy free-spirited girl in the movies. The Bohemian sexy earthy gypsy type. The one with the great tattoo that bakes organic food. But I hate to travel, always take a can of Lysol or disinfectant wipes, I don't do body fluids and if I am going to sleep in a strange bed I will bring my own sheets and pillow. I love the set design of multi colored apartment walls with all the colored glass, mismatched dishes & windchimes and Christmas lights strung across the living room. But I need all my walls to be all the same color, all my plates & towels and linens to be white, matching & smelling of bleach. The noise from the chimes would make me nuts & I would be too afraid of an electrical fire to ever leave the Christmas lights on. The worst part about this is the fact that in order to function well, I NEED my ducks to be in a row, everything in order, the home of my childhood. That's how I grew up, everything immaculate. Except for the four foot diameter cloud of chaos that followed me, like Pigpen on Charlie Brown. When I walk into a room it falls apart. I have such severe ADD that I am unable to organize or finish anything. I am a messy slob. It is exhausting being me. So I live in this perpetual state of nervousness and confusion aggravated by the need & inability to have my surroundings in a orderly & serene state. I am Howard Hughes's mind trapped inside Homer Simpson's body. What I need is a maid. Or a mom. Or a wife. My oldest kids and I can often be overheard saying 4 little words to each other, "What are you DOING?!" It goes like this. Sometimes I will wander into a room and either Pierre or Tallulah are scurrying about, MOVING things & I get freaked out and I scream, "WHAT are you DOING?!" to which they always reply, " It is called 'cleaning' Mother." Oh, right. I knew that. Carry on. Or Tallulah walks into the kitchen to see me sloshing the contents of some bottle of chemical all over the floor and then running through it scooting a wad of paper towels with my feet and she says to me, "Mother, WHAT are you DOING?" To which I give an indignant snort and say with confidence, "I am CLEANING." To which she replies, "Um. No you're not. " Apparently the only thing I will ever be truly good at is being crazy. But I think we have established that. I would like to be able to pick up any old liquid hand soap at any old store....but it has to be Jergens cherry almond scent in the white bottle. What I REALLY want is to be the lady who doesn't wash the grapes. My friend (you know who you are) who waltzes into the party, throws down a bag of grapes on the counter and goes off to have a good time. As soon as she is out of the room, I am not only washing the grapes, I am washing each grape wishing they could all be the same size and thinking to myself, 'Is she CRAZY!? Not only does she not wash the grapes, she buys grapes from CHILE! Which everyone knows that in the 60's we sold all our DDT to South America who still uses it liberally so these grapes are saturated with pesticides and toxins but at least they aren't from Mexico, so I don't have to worry so much about the hepatitis...' I am now interrupted by children at the party asking , "Miss. T, may we have some grapes now?" To which I patiently reply, "Like Hell you will have some grapes!! Have you washed your hands, did you touch that grape, do NOT put that in your mouth, EVERYBODY in the bathroom, now!" So, as you can see, I would really like very much to be the lady who DOESN'T have to wash the grapes. I want to relax and start enjoying life again. I don't want to think anymore. I would like to drink water....from the tap. I would like to eat a bowl of Froot Loops without knowing what trisodium phosphate is. Or throw caution to the wind & actually go barefooted in my own house. I would like to share a bowl of popcorn with company (you know, where everyone puts their hands in the same bowl, oh god) & not have to lysol all the doorknobs when they leave. I want satellite television, but Gaston says nuh-uh, no way. He wants us to be Intellectual. I am thinking reading MORE might not be what I need. I think I need to watch some Gilligan. No problem for him, this is the man who can walk into the kitchen, pick up any cup at random and drink from it. His whole family does that. My mother never let a cup touch the counter & preferred her grandchildren to call her Mrs. Richardson, so you see my dilemma. This week's assignment to myself is as follows. I have to buy a bag of grapes (from Chile of course) bring them home and not wash them and try to eat them. From my own bowl. I will attempt to do this barefooted. But that doesn't include actual walking, just sitting. I am never gonna be the lady who doesn't wash the grapes, am I?

The Atlantic Monthly | March 2003

DO YOU KNOW someone who needs hours alone every day? Who loves quiet conversations about feelings or ideas, and can give a dynamite presentation to a big audience, but seems awkward in groups and maladroit at small talk? Who has to be dragged to parties and then needs the rest of the day to recuperate? Who growls or scowls or grunts or winces when accosted with pleasantries by people who are just trying to be nice?

If so, do you tell this person he is "too serious," or ask if he is okay? Regard him as aloof, arrogant, rude? Redouble your efforts to draw him out?

If you answered yes to these questions, chances are that you have an introvert on your hands—and that you aren't caring for him properly. Science has learned a good deal in recent years about the habits and requirements of introverts. It has even learned, by means of brain scans, that introverts process information differently from other people (I am not making this up). If you are behind the curve on this important matter, be reassured that you are not alone. Introverts may be common, but they are also among the most misunderstood and aggrieved groups in America, possibly the world.

I know. My name is Jonathan, and I am an introvert.

Oh, for years I denied it. After all, I have good social skills. I am not morose or misanthropic. Usually. I am far from shy. I love long conversations that explore intimate thoughts or passionate interests. But at last I have self-identified and come out to my friends and colleagues. In doing so, I have found myself liberated from any number of damaging misconceptions and stereotypes. Now I am here to tell you what you need to know in order to respond sensitively and supportively to your own introverted family members, friends, and colleagues. Remember, someone you know, respect, and interact with every day is an introvert, and you are probably driving this person nuts. It pays to learn the warning signs.

What is introversion? In its modern sense, the concept goes back to the 1920s and the psychologist Carl Jung. Today it is a mainstay of personality tests, including the widely used Myers-Briggs Type Indicator. Introverts are not necessarily shy. Shy people are anxious or frightened or self-excoriating in social settings; introverts generally are not. Introverts are also not misanthropic, though some of us do go along with Sartre as far as to say "Hell is other people at breakfast." Rather, introverts are people who find other people tiring.

Extroverts are energized by people, and wilt or fade when alone. They often seem bored by themselves, in both senses of the expression. Leave an extrovert alone for two minutes and he will reach for his cell phone. In contrast, after an hour or two of being socially "on," we introverts need to turn off and recharge. My own formula is roughly two hours alone for every hour of socializing. This isn't antisocial. It isn't a sign of depression. It does not call for medication. For introverts, to be alone with our thoughts is as restorative as sleeping, as nourishing as eating. Our motto: "I'm okay, you're okay—in small doses."

How many people are introverts? I performed exhaustive research on this question, in the form of a quick Google search. The answer: About 25 percent. Or: Just under half. Or—my favorite—"a minority in the regular population but a majority in the gifted population."

Are introverts misunderstood? Wildly. That, it appears, is our lot in life. "It is very difficult for an extrovert to understand an introvert," write the education experts Jill D. Burruss and Lisa Kaenzig. (They are also the source of the quotation in the previous paragraph.) Extroverts are easy for introverts to understand, because extroverts spend so much of their time working out who they are in voluble, and frequently inescapable, interaction with other people. They are as inscrutable as puppy dogs. But the street does not run both ways. Extroverts have little or no grasp of introversion. They assume that company, especially their own, is always welcome. They cannot imagine why someone would need to be alone; indeed, they often take umbrage at the suggestion. As often as I have tried to explain the matter to extroverts, I have never sensed that any of them really understood. They listen for a moment and then go back to barking and yipping.

Are introverts oppressed? I would have to say so. For one thing, extroverts are overrepresented in politics, a profession in which only the garrulous are really comfortable. Look at George W. Bush. Look at Bill Clinton. They seem to come fully to life only around other people. To think of the few introverts who did rise to the top in politics—Calvin Coolidge, Richard Nixon—is merely to drive home the point. With the possible exception of Ronald Reagan, whose fabled aloofness and privateness were probably signs of a deep introverted streak (many actors, I've read, are introverts, and many introverts, when socializing, feel like actors), introverts are not considered "naturals" in politics.

Extroverts therefore dominate public life. This is a pity. If we introverts ran the world, it would no doubt be a calmer, saner, more peaceful sort of place. As Coolidge is supposed to have said, "Don't you know that four fifths of all our troubles in this life would disappear if we would just sit down and keep still?" (He is also supposed to have said, "If you don't say anything, you won't be called on to repeat it." The only thing a true introvert dislikes more than talking about himself is repeating himself.)

With their endless appetite for talk and attention, extroverts also dominate social life, so they tend to set expectations. In our extrovertist society, being outgoing is considered normal and therefore desirable, a mark of happiness, confidence, leadership. Extroverts are seen as bighearted, vibrant, warm, empathic. "People person" is a compliment. Introverts are described with words like "guarded," "loner," "reserved," "taciturn," "self-contained," "private"—narrow, ungenerous words, words that suggest emotional parsimony and smallness of personality. Female introverts, I suspect, must suffer especially. In certain circles, particularly in the Midwest, a man can still sometimes get away with being what they used to call a strong and silent type; introverted women, lacking that alternative, are even more likely than men to be perceived as timid, withdrawn, haughty.

Are introverts arrogant? Hardly. I suppose this common misconception has to do with our being more intelligent, more reflective, more independent, more level-headed, more refined, and more sensitive than extroverts. Also, it is probably due to our lack of small talk, a lack that extroverts often mistake for disdain. We tend to think before talking, whereas extroverts tend to think by talking, which is why their meetings never last less than six hours. "Introverts," writes a perceptive fellow named Thomas P. Crouser, in an online review of a recent book called Why Should Extroverts Make All the Money? (I'm not making that up, either), "are driven to distraction by the semi-internal dialogue extroverts tend to conduct. Introverts don't outwardly complain, instead roll their eyes and silently curse the darkness." Just so.

The worst of it is that extroverts have no idea of the torment they put us through. Sometimes, as we gasp for air amid the fog of their 98-percent-content-free talk, we wonder if extroverts even bother to listen to themselves. Still, we endure stoically, because the etiquette books—written, no doubt, by extroverts—regard declining to banter as rude and gaps in conversation as awkward. We can only dream that someday, when our condition is more widely understood, when perhaps an Introverts' Rights movement has blossomed and borne fruit, it will not be impolite to say "I'm an introvert. You are a wonderful person and I like you. But now please shush."

How can I let the introvert in my life know that I support him and respect his choice? First, recognize that it's not a choice. It's not a lifestyle. It's an orientation.

Second, when you see an introvert lost in thought, don't say "What's the matter?" or "Are you all right?"

Third, don't say anything else, either.

3 comments:

Mary said...: I don't care if you always are the lady that washes the grapes. (Your children will always have clean grapes...that is NOT a bad thing.) I think you are wonderful the way you are.

I understand that you want to change all the things "you" see as bad....well, there is alot of good inside you too.

Your friend of over 20 years....

Mary; Tuesday, March 04, 2008
justjuls said...: I understand the concept here -
I know what you're trying to accomplish -
I'd recommend starting smaller like going to town in your PJs -

The grapes seem too big!; Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Big Red Driver said...: I never gave the grapes a thought, but you saw my school bookshelf. I believe that you can't die from what you can't see but you better have your books lined up.; Wednesday, March 05, 2008

Simply Me

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

Crazy About Grapes

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