the joys and terrors of other people
by stephen brookes
The trouble with being an introvert (as any of us will tell you, if you can manage to corner us at a party), is that no one really believes you’re an introvert. “But you seem so normal!” they insist, as we wriggle out of their grasp and inch slowly toward the door.
Well – of course we are! We’re not weirdos, like those extroverts who actually enjoy big crowds and boisterous parties. We just like … quiet. Most of us aren’t particularly shy, or socially anxious, or misanthropic; in fact, we like people (in small doses). We’re built to prefer “the inner life of the mind over the outer world of other people,” as Psychology Today puts it. So if you spot one of us wandering around by ourselves, don’t worry – we’re not lonely or bored or in need of a hug. We’re just … thinking. Give us a quiet spot and an equally quiet friend to talk with, and we’re pretty much in heaven.
But now it’s Spring – and that means a looming gauntlet of community events and (shudder) “togetherness” in Hollin Hills. We’ll be braving another year of friendly potlucks, the 4th of July mega-picnic, lively community meetings, swim meets, the unsettling bonhomie of the pickleball club, even the beery joys of Oktoberfest. We’ll be urged to join this committee or volunteer for that team, or maybe even run for a Civic Association position.
A nightmare, basically. So what’s a Hollin Hills introvert to do?
First thing, fellow quiet people: Do not panic! Yes, it’s true that there is an entire committee dedicated to bringing Hollin Hillers together so we can have fun and get to know each other. And yes, these neighborhood get-togethers may involve human contact, in the form of egg tosses, blueberry bake-offs and even light conversation. There may be polka music, tables piled with home-cooked food, bicycle parades, speeches by Dan Storck, fun games for kids, and … wait, what are we worried about, again? (Aside from the speeches, maybe.)
Because it turns out that you don’t need to identify as a party animal to feel at home in Hollin Hills. Sure, there are extroverts here, but most are actually quite nice, and aside from being better at small talk, not really so different from you and me. (Moreover, we can learn much from them and their mysterious ways: I was raised by a relentlessly extroverted daughter, and trust me – I no longer fear anyone or anything in this world. )
But more than that, Hollin Hills really depends on its quiet people. This has always been a community that’s attracted independent thinkers rather than loudmouths and show-offs, a home for creative people who forge their own path through life. And it turns out – as Susan Cain writes in her essential book Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking – that the most inventive thinkers in history have tended to be introverts, from Albert Einstein to Bill Gates to Isaac Newton. “Introverts prefer to work independently,” explains Cain, “and solitude can be a catalyst to innovation.”
You might even argue (after a glass of wine or two) that the unique architecture and landscaping of Hollin Hills is itself rather introverted, which may be why it draws so many of us. There’s nothing loud or showy about the place; our houses dwell quietly, hidden in the trees, refusing to flex to the street or one-up each other. Our glass walls connect us, but at a distance. These are thoughtful houses, built on ideas. And it’s telling that Charles Goodman – the famously innovative (and introverted) architect who designed the place – wanted Hollin Hills to be a real community, but one that also provided privacy and breathing space for what he called “the flowering of the individual.”
So, fellow quiet people: If the Civic Association comes knocking, don’t bolt the door – you’re among friends! You won’t be shanghaied to a picnic, or press-ganged onto the House and Garden Tour, or forced to eat pigs-in-blankets at a potluck. There are much quieter and just as important ways to build community here, and they’re limited only by your imagination. Planting native species in the parks with a few neighbors, cooking dinners for the exhausted parents of newborns, arranging a summer concert in Voigt Park, holding a community yoga session – these are just a few examples of the generosity of spirit that seems to run through life in Hollin Hills.
It may be that “community” here isn’t really about the big events we hold, in spite of how much attention they get (and how much fun they are). It may be more about the quiet acts of kindness that bind us together in subtler but far more meaningful ways. It sounds like an oxymoron to talk about a “community of introverts,” but maybe that’s who we are, at our best: deeply quiet, deeply thoughtful, and (after we’ve finally shut our ceaseless yaps) able to really see each other, and connect.
– Stephen Brookes