Innie or Outie?

The Myers-Briggs type personality tests always tell me I am an extrovert, but barely. When I seem to reject that answer at face value, my friend Keri explains that it is about the source from which I draw energy. Do I draw it from being around others? Yes. Do I draw energy from being by myself? Yes. I am a writer. And a lifetime reader. I need my alone time. Ask my kids. Mommy gets grumpy from too much stimulation. On the other hand I need people, too, just not too many of them.

I don't like crowds or large groups, but I am not scared of them. That question about a party--do you tend to work the outside of the room or the middle of the room? Neither. I like to find a person who is standing by themselves and engage them. If everyone is engaged, I can usually cut a big group down and find a manageable sized group of people with which I can interact. If I had my druthers, I'd prefer if my socializing was limited to groups of twelve or less people. More than that and I get anxious. Too much energy. I'm an empath that way, picking up everyone else's vibe. Zing. Zing. Zing. The swirling chaos of that many people is almost too much for me, especially around the holidays. In college, I wasn't one for parties. I got out of the dorms and into the Honor's House because I could handle being in a group of nineteen people living under one roof. Much easier than 100+ kids.

After the college years were over and I was a newlywed, working on the opposite shift from my husband, I craved people. I worked second shift and missed so many social opportunities. And, too, I worked with only one or two other people during that shift. Sometimes, they were the only people I had meaningful contact the whole week.

I have no qualms about introducing myself. I can also be shy. It all depends on how far I think my social currency will get me with any particular group. I've noticed that the more dressed up people are, the more I tend to clam up. I don't do formality very well. As role models, my parents have modeled both ends of the spectrum. My dad was a teacher and basketball coach and loves to strike up deep conversations with complete strangers.  The subjects he could get into when evangelists came to the door or with locals in downtown Williamsburg or with a McDonald's employee while trying to order something at a drive-thru window. My mother, on the other hand, has a hearing impairment that she has had her whole life. She is not comfortable in social situations, especially those that involve background noise. An intelligent woman, she can't trust what she is hearing enough to do more than nod and gage other people's facial cues. As a result, she feels most comfortable around children who don't judge her intelligence by her ability to hold up her end of a complex conversation. I have to wonder what she would have been like if her hearing had not been an issue.  I always thought I took after my father more. Maybe the surveys are right. Maybe I am an extrovert. It isn't a bad thing to be. It sure came in handy when we moved to a new place where we only knew two people. After only a few months in Arden, my daughter would introduce herself to any adult she met as Jill Althouse-Wood's daughter--because everyone knows you, Mom.

But I can't be on all the time. I have fantasies about writing retreats in a remote cabin where I go all by myself for a week and a kindly gourmet chef slips kitchen witchery through a small compartment in the door. Kind of like a Walden experience except that Ina Garten is my personal woodland fairy. And then, at the end of the week, Ina would have magically prepared a dinner party for me, Mark, and my closest ten friends. With wine. With music. Is there such a thing as an Ina-vert?