Labeled?

When younger - oh, so much younger - I created a psychic wall around myself in public spaces. I did not invite interactions with folks around me. I just assumed most people felt the same way about respecting the privacy of others while in public venues. If you intruded on my space while in public, I perfected a glare worthy of freezing water on the spot. An Academy Award-worthy glare, I thought. (Is this something about which to brag?)

Ok, ok, outing the truth. I was labeled as an introvert early on, very early on. Damn those Myers-Briggs personality tests! Reserved; loves solitude and reflection; worn out by considerable social interaction. It seemed to fit, so I just carried it to the nth degree. I didn’t know any better and those personality tests were administered by experts (so to speak.) I now had a label. From experts. I could tell people, proudly, that I was an introvert. How cool.

As I got older, I hit a real quandary. I noticed people around me, including yours truly, liked to be acknowledged and seen by others. Lighting up, in fact. We, humans, seemed to flourish when acknowledged, even in infinitesimal ways. Like plants in need of water.

Noticing how we humans thrived on acknowledgment, I tiptoed into the waters of being more socially present to those around me. Amazing, I did not die! I couldn’t do mindful social presence 24/7, because I would die. I’m a hybrid introvert, or whatever.

But, says she taking a deep breath, I got hooked. This introvert got hooked on social presence. Oh gosh, “social presence“ sounds so damn academic. I got hooked on being a bearer of teeny-tiny bits of social acknowledgment, thrown around like fairy dust. Watering souls. Only time-limited by my available capacity in those moments. No labels tossed around. Just the fairy dust of acknowledgment.

Damn labels! Damn ‘em. As a naïve youngster, I latched onto the label of introvert and let it define me for way too long. “Labels are for jars,” not the complexities of being human.

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