Come on. Confess. Your secret is safe with me.
You know which one you are. Or maybe not.
Innie...Introvert? Outie...Extrovert? That is the question.
No, really, I'm not jesting...I'm going somewhere with this, so bear with me.
For years I thought I was an extrovert. I saw how the world valued strong people, people who walked tall and carried a big stick. Spoke loudly. Banged on their pulpit with force. People who knew what they wanted and got things done.
I tried my best to be like those people...the ones who have an "E" as the first letter of their Meyers Briggs Test. "E" as in Effervescent. Enterprising. Energetic. Extrovert.
I spent a lot of time and energy trying to live the life of an extrovert...throwing parties, running a business, getting involved in causes. Directing what energy I had into doing what I thought was necessary to be successful.
But all the while I found myself seeking solitude. I devoured books on the hidden life, the quiet life, the monastic life. Books on meditation and prayer. My soul would utter a sigh of contentment each time I finished one.
I loved walks and talks and book reads with my children. One-on-one conversations. Gardening. Hiking. Writing. Creating beauty. These are the things that made my heart sing.
So why did it take me so long to figure out the obvious? That I was not an extrovert, nor would I ever be one?