There's still confusion about the terminology here...
Introversion is a gift people inherit. We can be more conscious of it under some circumstances than others, but it's always there. It's a physical trait--a set, not the same for every individual, of different neuron circuits that develop completely in the brain, which extroverts unfortunately lack. Introversion is defined by the presence of the "conscience" set. Most introverts also have one or several "ability" sets: long deep thoughts that "synthesize" ideas, music/math, math/music, visual memory and/or imagination, overall sensory perceptivity, intuition, formal/verbal logic, empathy or "psychic" sensitivity, memory, probably others.
Nobody really develops all of the possible human brain circuits. Nobody has all the talents. Which is like saying that nobody is really a complete introvert.
Introversion is a separate thing from shyness and tiredness, which happen to everybody, although extroverts probably suffer more from shyness and feel less conscious of tiredness.
You don't become an introvert, or more of one, when you leave a party and get some sleep. You don't become less an introvert when you stay out late partying. Though a case might be made that learning to notice when you need some sleep is one of the markers of becoming an adult.
Like most adult introverts, I've been able to pass as an extrovert for days or weeks on end, though now I realize that that was both unhealthy and demeaning. I'm usually quiet in a group because, if I weren't interested in hearing what the others have to say, or else being paid to entertain them, why would I want to be in a group at all? I'm not particularly shy and am likely to be the first to complain or say what others are hesitating to say. I can do the entertaining job, and I can be loud. But I am Highly Sensory-Perceptive and also likely to be the first to feel that things are getting too loud to be enjoyed. I also test positive for the Long Brain Stem that ruminates and synthesizes and generates new ideas from a mix of older ones. I'm very mildly dyslexic, most noticeably when numbers are involved, but I have been paid to perform music and I have a sort of vague general appreciation for the concept of math. (Liked algebra and geometry, made lots of dumb dyslexic mistakes on the practice problems.)
The assumption is still out there, among the sillier young people, that my generation were all brought up "racist." Wrong. Most of us were brought up as what was then called "liberal" about race. We were more or less on one side of the 1960s color wars, although if we happened to be even slightly other than Black or White we had a perspective on those times that has never been recognized by the commercial media. Most of us, however, were for that reason drawn to the ideals of peace and good will and being able to judge people not for the color of their skin but for the content of their character.
It is, of course, true that this did not give us the experience or perspective of people on the other side. All it did was put us in a position to listen to them, set aside the prejudices we'd been taught, and try to be friends with people of different ethnic types.
I grew up thinking of myself as White. I was told that noticing that my father's face looked Red was not very nice, and anyway he had grey eyes, which was then considered proof of Whiteness. My brother came along three years later and identified as Cherokee. I never tried to reclaim that piece of my ancestry, although if I'd had the chance to marry the man whose legal identity was Cherokee I might have done. A majority of my actual ancestors came from Ireland and passed on the specifically Irish celiac gene to prove it. Then on Mother's side we have the ones from England, and on both sides a couple of strays from France, Scotland, and Germany. And if we trace Mother's English ancestors back to England, they had some Italian connections, too, though I've not confirmed whether I personally had any known Italian ancestors. But I have been told, with reference to my own lifestyle, "You're an Indian," meaning a Cherokee. I take that as high praise.
Why is this relevant? I went to college in Washington, DC, and my DC neighborhood of choice was Takoma Park. Second choice, Bethesda. The madly multicultural ones. At my school it had been traditional to complain, "You walk into the cafeteria and see Black tables and White tables." (There were also Spanish-speaking and French-speaking tables.) Third year, when I was living off campus but if I ate in the cafeteria people would gather at "my" table, we were the multiethnic and bilingual table. And things didn't change in the grown-up work world, either. I was interested in domestic policy, even then, but I kept getting steered to and called back by the "diplomatic" and "international" offices, hardly ever a "national" or "federal" one. White racists, to the extent that they exist, avoid me.
My adoptive brother came from India--the northern part, in the Himalayas. My adoptive sister's mother came from Mexico, her mother's husband was Irish-American, and she could pass for Black, which was why she was in foster care. I went home, dated a White man with partial albinism, and made a serious attempt to adopt a blue-eyed blonde child. I went back to the city, married a British West Indian man with melanism, and became the stepmother of a Black...young man. My adoptive sister's husband was Black; their children look Black. My natural sister's husband is White; my natural sister has that "classic black Irish" complexion thing going, too, and their children look White. The young cousin who shares my name is half Mexican, but not pura sangre native Mexican, and can be seen as Black. My brother died young; the girl he should have married had children who are also less than pura sangre native Mexican, and can be seen as White. The man I've mentioned online as a Significant Other, 2006-2022, was Cherokee, as was the adoptive son who lived with him; his first wife and her children were White. Then just to mix things up the very dear friend whom I met too late in life for sentimentalities about being adoptive sisters, but she taught her child to call me "aunt," was a German Jewish blonde who married a German Christian blond, so there's a real blond German-American Jewish youth in among The Nephews, too. You could say that my home is a place where people are judged not by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
In Takoma Park most people lived in houses rented out by rooms, and advertisements for available rooms used to specify the house language. My house language is English. Well, mostly. It's a choice. Most of us have a free choice. Some days you might hear Spanish. When my husband was alive, some days we even spoke French for as long as we could. (He went to McGill and immigrated legally via Canada.)
But, yes...character. I noticed, all the way back in college, that all the people I liked did have certain things in common. Specifically, they were all introverts. And still are.
So, "introvert" is the part of my physical genetic identity that matters most to me. Introverts are My People. Extroverts may be all right in their way, but they're a different kind of people. That limited amount of energy we have for putting up with other people's company? It lasts about five times as long when I'm among fellow introverts as it does when extroverts are around.
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