Shortly after her diagnosis, one of our mutual friends set up a time for women who know Jill to come and pray for her. Nichole's living room was full.
Jill and her family moved to Norman less than two years ago, and it seems like she already knows more people here than I do after a decade. She's bubbly and outgoing, the kind of person who makes you feel at ease with being yourself, and she could probably have a better conversation with a wall than I can with an actual human. Hence, the ladies who gathered on her behalf were from a variety of Jill's many walks of life, including her running group, church, kids' school, neighbors, and random acquaintances.
Jill and one of the aforementioned random acquaintances, Laura, met at the public library one day...the first week that Jill moved to Norman...because Jill and Laura are both the kind of people who meet people. You've probably figured out by now that I am not. If you were to Google the definition of "introvert", you would likely find my head shot next to the word.
Sometimes, I get down on myself because I am not a Jill Perry or a Laura Piersall. I love people, but I am awkward and slow to get to know them.
Some of you reading this may have been to a church where there is a "meet and greet", usually before the sermon begins. I hate that part of the service. During the "meet and greet" at our church, Jill is inevitably hugging someone and flashing her huge, inviting smile at a complete stranger. I'm in the bathroom, or refilling my coffee...or hiding behind the stage curtains.
I've learned to come out of my shell somewhat, and I'm fairly adept (now) at having one-on-one conversations with people who I've recently met, but these skills still do not come naturally for me. It often feels like our society was created for extroverts, so after forcing myself out of my comfort zone for even a few hours, I am ready for a nap.
It is easy to convince myself that the way I was constructed is inferior to the way others were. I know in my mind that I am "fearfully and wonderfully made", but there's this voice that sometimes tries to tell me that I'm not as fearfully and wonderfully made as people with personalities like Jill's,
If you were a body part, which one would you choose to be? The heart? Eyes? Mouth? Brain? Hands? Those are all great choices, and obviously very important. I bet I can tell you which body part didn't come to mind. The bladder. Right? Nobody picks that guy. But guess what. You would die without your bladder. Also, have you ever met anyone with two hearts, two brains, or an extra set of eyes? No, you haven't, because that would be excessive and impossible.
I need to learn to be okay with exactly the gifts that I have. They're not inferior or unimportant. Most likely, I won't make friends with you the first time I see you at the public library. But I might after another time or two, and then I'll be your friend forever. If you climb up in my dental chair in a few years, I'll ask you about yourself and listen to your answers. (I really like listening.) I am not the life of the party, but I can sure organize a good one. And if you come to our house for dinner, my husband will carry the conversation, but I'll cook my mom's amazing spaghetti recipe, play with your kids, and make you feel welcome.
Perhaps the world does not need another Jill or Laura, as wonderful as they are. The world definitely does not need Jill or Laura imposters. Maybe today is a really good day to just be Mary Rachel, in all of my introverted glory, and to trust that the genuine version of myself is far better than a pretend version of my friends.
|An introvert and an introvert-in-training|