The Most Adaptable Species Are the Ones That Survive: Being an Introvert in the Age of Covid
I used to think there was something wrong with me.
In school, when my fellow classmates put together kickball or “Kill the Carrier” games at recess, I quietly shied away to an inconspicuous corner of the field or playground.
I never had any desire to go to parties in high school, never went to a single one in college.
I had friends, good friends, whose company I enjoyed, even in public, such as at bars, movies, and concerts.
Yet I always preferred being alone, sitting on the couch, my nose buried in a good book, or writing.
When I would venture out with friends, my mind would always be half on where I was and whom I was with, half on when the hell we were getting out of there since maintaining a public facade was so exhausting.
It wasn’t until I had been teaching high school English for several years, was married and had started a family, before my department chair introduced me to a book that explained what was “wrong with me.”
The book was Susan Cain’s Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking.
As it turned out, there wasn’t something wrong with me per se (although my wife might beg to differ); I just tick all the boxes for introversion: the need for quiet contemplation, self-reflection, time to make decisions, writing instead of speaking, with few friends but unshakable friendships.
So when most of the world locked down last year, I found myself feeling guilty I was not among the isolated, adrift, and disenfranchised.
Of course, I appreciate how my good fortune has contributed to it.
Even though teaching remotely is no picnic, my job isn’t about to disappear.
Through the pandemic, I was never unable to pay the mortgage, car payment, or weekly groceries.
My wife, kids, and I remained and still remain healthy.
But the sense of alienation I was constantly reading about did not afflict me.
Instead, I experienced a sense of relief I did not need to venture out in public.
I taught my classes via Google Meet, read, wrote, took daily walks.
The various civic organizations I belong to were relegated to Zoom, so I could attend meetings in sweatpants or pajamas.
Although I would not be so perverse as to characterize the Covid-19 pandemic a “blessing,” my introverted disposition provided the natural defense against its more insidious psychological ravages.
Charles Darwin wrote the most adaptable species are the ones that survive.
There’s research to corroborate this.
Back in October, Psychology Today published a piece titled “The Emotional Strength of Introverts During the Pandemic,” in which Dr. Susan Krauss Whitbourne, Ph.D., wrote:
“Perhaps you know people whom you would consider to be high in introversion. In their pre-pandemic lives, they seemed content with their quiet lifestyles. You might have regarded them with concern for their mental health if you thought that their lack of social engagement could place them at risk for loneliness. Now, however, if you’re someone high in extraversion, you might wish you had their ability to derive satisfaction from solitary or quiet activities.”
Dr. Whitbourne goes on to cite a University of Bern study that suggests those demonstrating high introversion characteristics are able to activate adaptive emotion-regulating strategies “to preserve their well-being and relief from loneliness.”
She adds:
“Introversion may be an asset for staving off loneliness, then, but only when combined with the ability to draw upon their own internal abilities to frame negative emotions in a more positive light. Indeed, the overall findings revealed that the longer into the pandemic it was when participants completed the measures, the more likely their adaptive emotion regulation strategies were to preserve their mental health.”
Last month, BuzzFeed News published a different perspective.
In “How Quarantine Has Affected Introverts,” Michael Blackmon quotes Alex Delaney, a 28-year-old teacher from Brooklyn, NY:
“I fully identify as an introvert and like to spend time alone, but I’ve had more urges [in the last year] than ever to want to be at a club or go to a bar, which are places I would never go prior to the pandemic. It’s funny, though, because I feel like once I do have the option to go to those places again, I probably won’t.”
I can relate to that conflict.
Even before the pandemic turned us into hermits, I would agonize over the decision whether to go out to the jazz club five minutes down the road from me on a Saturday night and enjoy a glass of wine or a beer, or stay in the tattered green sweatshirt I’m wearing now and watch one of the various documentaries in my Netflix list.
Psychologist Jonathan Cheek listed in The Cut last year four four types or “shades” of introversion:
- social
- thinking
- anxious
- restrained
I’m probably more “thinking.”
“Restrained” and “anxious,” though, definitely fit me.
Social, though?
No way.
The pandemic relieved me of this pressure.
When everyone is social distancing and absenting him and herself from crowds, it’s no longer so easy to identify the wallflowers.
Maybe being a social misfit isn’t so bad after all.
When this is all over and we can finally tear the masks off safely and interact again, it’ll be interesting to see how it has changed how we do it.
