For the Introverts of Exeter
There are more of us here than you may think. If I could wind back time and tell my prep self one thing, it would be this: it is okay to check in at 7pm on a Friday night. Do not beat yourself up over your inability to crack a joke at the right place, at the right time. Turn down the background noise, enjoy the poetry book on your lap. If keeping up with the boisterous common-room conversations feels like torture, like an Everest peak to climb, don’t force yourself into it everyday. There’s nothing wrong with you. Call up a friend from home. Listen to music. Breathe.
Yes, of course, I do realize that introversion-extroversion is a spectrum; it is not a world of them against us, and vice versa. There is no such thing as a pure introvert or extrovert — such a person would be in a lunatic asylum, as Carl Jung said. In a high school social setting, however, especially that of boarding schools, friendships do tend to form very quickly for many and the ubiquity of twenty-strong posses can lead those who find themselves without one, after the end of prep fall, to feel like they have committed some grievous social errors. Like they have failed the very first test of survival.
I have vivid memories from my first and only time at an “American” summer camp, aptly named “The American Paradise Camp” in Binh Thuan, Viet Nam. The long days were filled with chants, treks to the beach, Jenga, volleyball and impromptu skits that went on well into the night. There was always someone around, acting more rowdy than they should have been. Turning my back on the groups of kids huddled around loud speakers, I found my only solace in conversations with J, the camp counsellor, as she flipped through the pages of Finding Alaska and Paper Towns.
In a way, for us introverts, Exeter feels a bit like an overlong summer camp that we did not sign up for. We ask ourselves every day: do I belong here?
For a long time — a term, a year, three years — you may struggle to fully answer in the affirmative. Once in a while, more often that you’d like to admit, you walk into the dining hall, grab a sandwich and leave, not wanting anyone to see you sitting alone. That routine sinks in and you busy yourself with classes, sports, and extracurricular commitments to forget that disturbing question. You start looking forward to the end. Fall break, winter break, summer break. Graduation.
They didn’t tell you how hard it would to be an introvert at Exeter when they toured you around the nine-floor library frequented by more miserable 333-ers than whimsical book-lovers. At a place where the remedy to loneliness is dodgeball, dates with strangers, crowded Grill tables and weekend mosh pits, it will take much longer for introverts to find a space to call home.
But do not lose faith. One day, you will walk down Water Street, a cup of hot chai in hand, and the sheer beauty of afternoon light on crimson leaves will take your breath away. One day, you will call up someone who graduated last year, wishing they were here. One day, you will find yourself on the top floor of the church, yellow lights turned low, listening to the swoosh of cars on ice-glazed roads with a friend who holds your hand when you cry. One day, you will find someone to read poetry books with.
“You seem like an extrovert to me,” said A, a prep in my dorm, as I asked her one day to assess my orientation on the introvert-extrovert spectrum. I smiled, feeling a keen sense of bemusement intermingling with an odd pride — not dissimilar to the feeling I had when I realized a new lower on my floor had not realized, after two months of sporadic conversations, that I did not come from the States. Hiding. What we do here, all the time.
As I proceeded to ask for the rationale behind her assessment she responded with the list of extracurricular activities I’m involved in, the places she had seen me on campus: The Exonian, Model UN meetings, Student Council, the Assembly stage. “You’re involved in so many extrovert-y things, like public speaking. So I’d say you’re more of an extrovert.” The other girls in her grade concurred, nodding their heads while munching on dorm cookies. Conventionally engaged Exonian. Extrovert.
The week before, I had a conversation with my Exeter interviewer on this very topic: how introverted Exonians usually have a harder time coming into their own. Through her, I learned about Susan Cain and her book, Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking. In a TED talk viewed more than 20 million times, Ms. Cain shared her struggles in educational and working environments that idealized extroversion almost to the point of characterizing introversion as an anomaly, something to be rooted out. “I went on to be a Wall Street lawyer, of all things, partly because I wanted to prove to myself that I could be bold and assertive, too,” said Ms. Cain, who retired from corporate law to spend time reading, writing and advocating for introverted children. She believes that the danger of modern society is how solitude has stopped being valued. Sometimes, it is in the quiet of their own minds, not the cacophony of conversations and background noise, that thinkers come up with the most creative ideas.
So I’ll leave you with Cain’s words in Quiet: The Power of Introverts: “Spend your free time the way you like, not the way you think you're supposed to.” The skills that Exeter pushes us to develop, namely elocution, teamwork, and socialization are all incredibly important skills in order for us to be successful, contributing members of society. But, the quest for mastery of these does not predicate upon you changing who you are.