I don't know about your elementary school experience, but I do know that at my school, lunch time provided quite the source of entertainment every now and again. From Mrs. Molloy storming into the kitchen and declaring a ban on curly fries to the entire cafeteria joining forces and fake coughing during silent time (which resulted in indoor recess for two weeks, the worst punishment a fourth grader could possibly endure), the thirty minutes allotted to eating were usually pretty eventful.
The cafeteria was also home to some of my most traumatic memories of elementary school. In fourth and fifth grade, administration decided that instead of letting us choose our seats as we had done in previous grades, there would be a new system for assigning seats, so that we would be forced to meet new people. This sounds like a pretty innocent idea, but I absolutely hated it. It wasn't like I was lacking in social interaction: I was in chorus, band, and the recess running club, and I played every intramural sport the school offered in addition to travel soccer, basketball, and softball. I didn't see why I couldn't just sit with my friends, who new me well and with whom I was comfortable.
I've always been a quiet, more reserved person. I open up the more I get to know a person, but even then, I prefer to sit back and listen rather than talk. The cafeteria in fourth grade was the first time I began to notice that people thought my quiet nature was a problem. Every time a new cycle came around and I introduced myself to different unfamiliar faces, I always got the same responses. "Why don't you talk more?" "You talk so softly; I can't hear you!" "Why are you so quiet?"
As the years went on, I became more and more cognizant of my soft-spoken tendencies. In middle school, if I participated a lot in algebra one day, I would sit in silence in English class the next period, because I felt like I needed to conserve energy. Running the mile in gym didn't leave me nearly as tired as debates in history did. I loved going to parties and sleepovers, but after a couple hours I would step away from the crowd and try to find another person to have a one-on-one conversation with. Finally, in high school, while filling out one of those match-your-personality type-to-a-career quizzes, I came up with a word that described my behaviors perfectly. Contrary to what I had previously thought, the word was not "weird" - it was "introverted."
In the weeks following this discovery, I became strangely obsessed with articles such as this one. "You may not pick up the phone even when your friends call, but you'll call them back as soon as you're mentally prepared for the conversation." "You have to keep a balance between socializing and spending time alone." "You have a constantly running inner monologue." I loved these articles because I realized that there were millions of other people feeling the exact same way that I did. Reading through, I would connect the dots in my head; my behaviors now had an explanation.
A lot of people still associate introversion with negative traits, even though it is not synonymous with shyness, misanthropy, or even rudeness. However, thanks to people such as author Susan Cain and her Quiet Revolution, introverts like me are beginning to view themselves in a more positive light. I'll probably never be the center of attention (or want to be, for that matter), but I am a good listener and very observant. I won't always say everything that's on my mind, but I do think things through carefully and am good at expressing myself through writing. I may not enjoy walking up to a big crowd and introducing myself, but I am a loyal friend.
So the next time someone asks me why I don't speak up more, I have an answer. That's just who I am, and that's okay.
