Dear reader,
I’m probably not like you.
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At least, not in certain ways.
I don’t know what it’s like to be effortlessly open. I don’t know what it’s like to always be the center of attention or to be the obvious extrovert in the room. I don’t know what it’s like to be the one to speak up, and I certainly don’t know what’s like to ignore the voices inside my head, even when I know that what they’re telling me is nothing short of absurd.
Or, perhaps those things don’t describe you either. In which case, maybe I am like you.
Maybe you also know what it’s like to be the closet introvert – the one who is all too comfortable laughing quietly to herself instead of out loud, but also knows how to yell without ever opening her mouth. The one who loves being with people, but also loves her alone time. The one who lives inside her own head, but will show off a little small talk here and there as if she doesn't.
The extroverted introvert, if you will.
I find that it’s those with the loudest thoughts – thoughts that always seem to be buried behind a mouth that will never utter most of them – that are the most challenging people to unfold. How do you really see someone’s heart when it rarely ever speaks? When their words boast of complacency but their minds forfeit their two cents in favor of even a little bit of harmony? When they spend most of their time picking apart the thoughts in their own heads instead of the thoughts in someone else’s?
The answer?
You don’t have to.
But coming from just one of many people who would rather sit back and smile than ever say a single word, our loud minds and quiet mouths often find themselves misunderstood.
I have a good relationship with silence. And it’s not usually a bad thing. Just because I’m not saying anything doesn’t mean I’m not having fun. It also doesn’t mean I don’t admire your quirks or marvel at the things that so uniquely make you tick. I do notice things – probably more things than most people do. But even when I won't say anything, and even when my mouth stays quiet, my heart smiles for me.
I can act a fool better than you might think. Most people are surprised when I tell them how shy I am. A few even think I’m a downright liar. I haven’t quite figured that one out yet. Maybe I am a liar. Maybe I’ve just gotten really good at camouflaging my words to carefully match my surroundings. Or maybe I’m even growing out of my shyness – learning how to shed my own skin because it doesn’t fit quite right anymore. I can be outgoing. But I won't always be.
Which means you probably don’t know as much about me as you think you do. I do have a lot to say. You just have to ask the right questions. I don't like to keep secrets. I’m just hard to put together sometimes. I used to ignore this about myself – used to trick myself into believing that I was easy to figure out. I know I’m not.
But you can still read a lot from my smile. And I’m not just talking about my dimple. Almost every emotion I’ve ever felt has managed to draw out a smile somehow. I believe in finding the good in everyone. I believe in having a carefree heart, and I believe that every last piece of my puzzle has the word “happiness” etched into it in some way, shape, or form. My smile can probably tell you more than my words ever will.
My own thoughts are my very worst enemy. I have a much funnier relationship with the dialogue that goes on inside my own head than I’d like to admit. In fact, I argue more with my own “what-ifs” than I have with any human being ever. I am my own worst critic, my own devil’s advocate, and my own coach that sometimes can’t help but fall just a little bit short of encouraging, although I will probably never tell you that out loud.
But lastly, and perhaps most importantly…
I do not have it all together. What is it about a quiet heart that makes people think that those who have one “have it all together”? What does “having it all together” even look like? Most days, I still struggle to make peace with my broken pieces. Most days, I’m still learning how to love that broken-pieces, cracked-open, spilled-all-over-the-floor version of myself. Most days, I don’t have it all together. In fact, that’s actually all days. But I'm okay with it.
It is a rare occasion to be effortlessly open – to forfeit your whole heart to trust, to make peace with your broken pieces, and to raise a white flag in contented surrender even when those nagging thoughts never bother to make it onto your lips.
Maybe you’re learning how to be just that.
I am too.
But I’m in no rush.
My timid little heart’s got me until that time comes. I’ve gotten to know her pretty well, and I have a feeling she knows what she’s doing.
And, to be honest, I wouldn’t want it any other way.
Sincerely,
An extroverted introvert
