If you have never been subjected to one of those corporate, touchy-feely, “let’s all get to know ourselves better”, personality tests, than the title may not make any sense. Have no fear, gentle reader, all shall become clear in time.
Now, you may not know if from my blogging or emails, but I am an introvert. That’s right, I rank pretty high on the “I” scale. What that basically means is that being around other people, especially large groups of people, even more so for a group of people I don’t know, exhausts me. Being an introvert means that you recharge by being alone. I’m a home body. I like to hang around my house in sweats on the weekends and pretend that I’m a hermit. I don’t go outside a whole lot. I don’t talk to my neighbors, except for the very outgoing guys across the street, and that’s only one a month or less. I keep to myself. I stitch, I read, I play video games, I like peace and quiet.
But I wasn’t always that way. Believe it or not, when I was a child, I was what we would term a “flaming E.” I was so extroverted, I was a show-off, I was outgoing, I had to be the center of attention at all times. I would talk to anyone, befriend everyone, I was probably every parent’s worst nightmare when it came to being friendly. I could get up on a stage and sing or dance without a care. I loved it, I ate it up, I craved attention in every way. Then, when I was 11 years old, we moved to another city and I slipped a notch on the E scale. I had to go to a new school, make new friends and I lived out in the boonies. I had to ride a school bus for the first time in my life and was introduced to the new concept of not everyone likes me. But, I bounced back after a bit. I auditioned for the local television station and became a reporter for the kids new show that aired on Saturdays. The cameraman called me the one take wonder because I didn’t require multiple takes when I did a report, so the shoots were always pretty quick. I could pretty much take the sheet of paper that was given to me when I showed up for the shoot, memorize the contents, then get in front of the camera and do my piece.
Anyway, that was obviously a boost to my ego and my extroversion. And then came the day that I came home from a shoot, high as a kite because I always had so much fun, to find my parents in the living room crying. I was 13 and that was the announcement of their divorce. Now, I was a pretty healthy, happy kid, so you would think that I have been fine, right? Let me tell you, I wasn’t. That big E ran away squealing, buried deep inside of me and hid like a squeamish, quivering mass of slightly underdeveloped Jello. I started writing – a lot. I would wake up in the middle of the night and write page upon page of poetry. I kept a journal for a creative writing class that I was taking and was able to spew a lot of my emotional wreckage onto the paper. My teacher was an incredible kind and wonderful person and he helped me through this initial painful time. Over the years, I became a drum major in junior high school and carried that into high school, which helped encourage my inner E to come out and play a little bit. I competed in music festivals on flute, piccolo and voice. Of course, my introversion manifested itself by making me throwing up before auditions because I was always a ball of nerves. My mom remarried during that time, which introduced another stressful period of transition as I now had a stepfather and two little stepsisters to contend with when we moved into their house. And my brother had already moved away to go to college… in Iowa (just before the divorce). And then I went to college in Delaware. Four hours from home and I knew no one. And I was having problems with my dad, which eventually led to me estranging myself from him completely.
Throw into the mix one bad 3-year mistake of a relationship (women really are attracted to men like their fathers, which was not a good thing at this time, given the above information) and by the time I finished college, I was a mess. What was once such a big E was this tiny, shriveled entity that lived somewhere deep, deep inside where I couldn’t find it. Don’t get me wrong, I knew I was smart and I knew I was good at what I did and a great catch as a new employee fresh out of college with practical experience already under my belt. But that was about it. My self-confidence was in the toilet. I knew I was hot stuff, but I didn’t accept it. I didn’t believe in myself. Heck, I was a female who worked with computers. And a smart, talented one at that. I was a complete anomaly.
Fast forward 8 years. Thanks to a loving husband who nurtered me all of that time and a very gregarious and extroverted father-in-law, my inner E has grown back up a bit and even likes to come out and play every once in a while. And so, dear reader, we come to the present time. I discovered two years ago that I’m a natural born presenter. I decided that I wanted to develop my speaking and presentation skills, so I took a class at work. And was pretty much informed afterwards that they weren’t sure why I was in the class, that I had no need for it. Not too long afterwards, I became part of a small team (basically 3 people) that presents a one-hour overview of IT at our company to new employees at orientation. Cue my little E. I’m so nervous, I’m shaking when I start (though my colleagues claim that they didn’t even notice). But then something happens. My E jumps out and just takes over. I’m animated, I’m looking all around the room, talking to people like a natural and I barely remember anything. Seriously. Afterwards, it feels like someone else jumped into my body, ran me through an obstacle course and then left. It’s great fun, until about two hours later, when I start to crash. And I mean, hard-core, eat my dinner, lay down on the couch and drool a lake about 4 inches wide on my pillow, dead to the world for almost two hours, crash.
That would be the big I taking back the controls. So, you see, I have this little war that goes on inside me the day I have to present. All morning, I look over the presentation and my big I says to me repeatedly, “Why are you doing this? Are you a complete idiot? You’re nervous, you don’t know the material and you’re going to screw up. Why don’t you just say you’re sick and go home or something?” And my little E says, “Come on, it’ll be fun! We’ll have a great time and you’ll do just fine, just let me take control. Come on… feed me!” I sweat buckets beforehand, then I go into the room, little E jumps out and does the hokey pokey for an hour, I revel in my success for a bit and then I go home. And the whole ride home, my big I screams, “NO, you FOOL! Why did you let him DO THAT?!? Now I have to clean up. What is this all over my nice clean brain? Are those, are those ENDORPHINS? Oh, sheesh. Let me just sweep those away. Darn you! Now I have to reboot! *snore*”
So… um… yeah. That was my day yesterday. How was yours? 😆
