I often identify my first year of graduate school as the
year in which I began to understand that I was more of an introvert than an
extrovert. This narrative of the development of my self-knowledge has often
comforted me in times when I need to understand some of the big-picture ways
that going to graduate school has benefited me personally, as a soul moving
through the universe, maturing and growing.
So, considering that this topic of introversion vs
extroversion has been something I’ve been thinking about for several years now
in relation to myself, it was a pleasant surprise to see an article about
introverts and extroverts in the April 20th edition of The
Chronicle.
In the article, entitled "Screening out the Introverts," William Pannapacker reflects on the cultural
bias towards the qualities of extroversion. He discusses the way that introversion is looked down upon
and even pathologized in our culture, and wonders whether graduate school
programs do enough to resist these kinds of biases, and to accommodate and even
celebrate the qualities of an introverted personality.
To set up his reflection, Pannapacker points out that
academia might seem to be a haven for an introverted type of personality: “Many
people are drawn to academic life because they expect it will provide a refuge
from the social demands of other careers: They believe one can be valued as a
studious introvert, as many undergraduates are.” But then he also points out
that a career as an academic is very different from life as a student; it
requires a person to be comfortable both with solitary tasks as well as with
very public engagements. As an academic, he points out, “Long periods of social
isolation – research and writing – are punctuated by brief periods of intense
social engagements: job interviews, teaching, conferences, and meetings.”
Reading this article made me revisit my own narrative of how
I came to know myself as more introverted than extroverted, and how that story
relates to my growth as a graduate student. All my life, while I was in school
from basically kindergarten through most of my undergraduate years, I
considered myself a “people person.” Also, I loved being on stage, performing
and acting and singing. So,
growing up, everyone, including myself, would consistently describe me as an
outgoing, sociable, and friendly. I would say I “loved people.”
There was, of course, another side to me as well. I loved to
get absorbed in a good book, a new CD, a great movie, or my own writing, and I
loved the mental retreat of a beautiful view of the ocean, a distant city
skyline, a mountain, or a valley. I liked having one or two special best
friends who knew everything about me. I liked meaningful, long, one-on-one
conversations.
When I first took the Myer’s Briggs test as a college
freshmen, I came out an as extrovert. I now believe that my “extrovert” result
was at least partly because of the very stigmas about introversion that
Pannapacker points out. He says, “Given that introversion is frowned upon
almost everywhere in the US culture, the test might as well have asked, “Would
you prefer to be cool, popular and successful or weird, isolated, and a
failure?” I do believe that our cultural biases probably skewed the test
results, at least in my case. Plus, I thought because I “loved people” and
loved being on stage that it didn’t make sense to identify myself as
introverted.
But the real point I want to make here is that I actually
didn’t even know about my introversion until I entered the workforce in the
corporate setting. I had always and forever been a student, and so always was
in a social position in which acts of reflection and study were valuable and
worthwhile ways to spend my time. But this notion of time well spent changed
when I entered the work-force. When I graduated from college, I began working
in the corporate world, in a consumer marketing position. No longer was I in a
position in which acts of reflection or study were acceptable; now was the time
to produce, not study. I believe it was this new social role that caused my
discomfort. I missed the feeling that some personal reflection time was a
worthwhile way to way my time. I felt drained and exhausted after interacting
all day with people I didn’t care about or wouldn’t choose to be with if I
wasn’t at work. After work I would crawl into bed, watch TV, and try to gear up for another day.
I remember when I first began graduate school a year later,
a sense of balance was restored to my inner self. I had time built into my life
to read, to be in solitude, to write, to study and reflect; I also engaged with
people in meaningful ways that made me feel purposeful and connected. By the
end of a day’s work in the graduate school life, I felt energized and wanted to
socialize with my family and friends rather than crawling in a hole and
watching TV.
With this sharp contrast to the way I had felt after a day
of work as a consumer marketing assistant, I finally began to rethink my
characterization as an extrovert. I began to realize that the solitude involved
in writing and research actually helped recharge me and make me feel alive, and
then my relationships with people could thrive and my interpersonal
interactions were full of the energy and sociability I had always known
throughout my life. I felt sure I had found a kind of job and life that
harmonized with my personality.
Ultimately, I guess the point of this blog post is to continue the
important conversation that Pannapacker began in The Chronicle – to think
through how personalities can define and shape the system of education, even as
the system of education can define and shape personalities. What has been your
experience in graduate school in terms of your dominant personality traits? In
what ways do you think your personality drew you to your field? Which
personality traits do you think are more valued within the system of graduate
education? Which traits are frowned upon? How have these biases affected you? Please share your thoughts and reflections! :)
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