On the path to self-identity in my youth, I went through a variety of different “phases,” so to speak. Much of this was a fuzzy combination of media-driven culture—I could be whatever I wanted, so long as it fit a label of sorts. Like some of my peers, I had been dragged down by the late 2000s third wave emo movement, and my attitude became typically rampant with misanthropy, rebellion, and an obsession with isolation, which was often forced and self-proclaimed.

In spite of this emo phase, I was still talkative, a good student, and a socially active member of the student body. A life of seclusion and angst was seemingly not for me, and no matter how much I pushed it, it wouldn’t get through to me. Funnily enough, I had poorly attempted to convince myself and those around me otherwise.

It wasn’t until my freshman year of university that a door to self-awareness opened—it was then that I came to realize I was, inherently, an extrovert. After living in the same town for most of my life and seeing the same people (repeatedly) over the course of two decades, I was suddenly transported to a different country, a different city, and a different school than I had anticipated. However, I was given an opportunity to compare and contrast environments and experiences, see the world through an independent lens, and start my adult life from scratch.

The sheer freedom of university made me realize there are just some aspects of my character that are not subject to change.

Less than a week into freshman year, I had shamelessly interacted with practically everyone in my field of vision: students from various majors and years, professors, janitors, and teacher’s assistants. In some instances, however, I felt as if I was forcing myself upon some of them. In retrospect, it’s not uncommon for people to stay within their comfort zone, exercising more control over who can play a role in their lives. And then there was me, penetrating the barriers between my colleagues and myself. At the time, I hadn’t realized the cultural and moral repercussions of my socialization, but I reaped its benefits early into my university experience. In fact, the groups of random friends I fostered into close relationships are quite literally the byproduct of my eccentric instigations.

I’m fine with being the ice-breaker, taking less of an eloquent conversationalist and more of a not-too-awkward outgoing human approach. I like to plan events and take people under my wing. I like to be there for them, and I know they really did appreciate it. The experience was, however, not a mutual one. I often found my friends, even those dear to me, closing themselves off from me. They were rather proudly “anti-social” and expected me to understand that they prefer being alone, even when I needed them most. I started to see anti-socialites sprouting from every direction, and I would think to myself, perhaps I’m simply overbearing?

When I saw how their behaviors impacted others around them, however, a chain reaction of misunderstandings and mishaps, I realized it wasn’t just me; nonetheless, I came to accept and even appreciate their personal choice.

But it wasn’t until I spoke to my younger 15-year-old cousin that I realized something interesting: the concept of apparent introversion is more of a trend than an exceedingly common personality trait.

As she narrates a barrage of hilarious stories from her adventures in high school, she conclusively states she is anti-social and quite proud of it. Oddly enough though, being isolated at lunchtime and having to distractedly read a book alone in the corner seems to bum her out a great deal. I ask her why she feels that way, and why she doesn’t do anything about it. Her response seemed contrived as she explained, “No, it’s alright. I like this. I like being alone.”

So, even though it was apparent that she didn’t really mean it, you must stay true to the code, even if it makes you unspeakably miserable. But what my cousin claims isn’t something I haven’t heard a countless number of times before. In fact, I barely know anybody who hasn’t said this to me at least once throughout our relationship. Less than a handful of people in my life have spared me the tiresome nonsense about how they’re anti-social and introverted, and it’s the greatest thing ever and they prefer to stay that way.

It’s a shallow mindset. Most folks confuse the terms too, and with the ongoing popular culture obsession with deep, intuitive and witty introverts, everybody and their mother wants to be one. When push comes to shove, however, I shamelessly declare myself an extrovert and immediately get pretentious reactions. My own cousin, fresh-faced and six years younger than me, couldn’t appreciate the beauty of an outgoing personality either, repressing her social needs for a reputation.

Being in touch with the human condition is an exhilarating experience. I can name friends I have from every continent and city in the world and from every religion and culture. I have friends from strict families and friends without families, friends who are rich and friends who are poor, and friends who are women and friends who are men. I’m fortunate enough to learn from my fellow earth-dwellers, and in turn, I share my own tales with them. We can collectively pull through our brief existence in life, sharing our burdens to make the trip an easy one.

The cult of the social butterfly is quite literally the very essence of living it up. We meet people everywhere we go, and we learn new things every day, and truth be told, we deserve nothing less. We can manipulate awkward silences into a comfort zone, we learn to respect differences among people to the best of our understanding, and most of all, we give and receive invaluable laughter for the years to come.

People genuinely assume that, because we extroverts love to socialize, we don’t read, ponder or value time alone. On the contrary, some of us have read more books than most self-proclaimed introverts, fearlessly crossing our comfort zones to explore a plethora of untouched stories, some a result of our connections. Some of us love to do power yoga at sunrise or jam to Queen on a Saturday night alone. Some of us prefer the company of our pets or our scented candles on rainy days indoors.

Most importantly, all of us can get moody, heartbroken, and yes, suffer blows to our confidence. Social anxiety and depression can strike on the most outgoing of folks. We don’t owe society our perpetual sunshine, as popular culture seems to insinuate, because society often doesn’t deserve it.

If the penalty for being cheerful and outgoing is to be wrongly labeled as shallow, slutty and annoying, then expect a staggering rise in mood disorders further down the road.

With all my vigor for life and a solid sense of confidence, unfortunately, there are few shoulders for me to cry on when times are rough. The growing stigma against my energetic, talkative nature has often led me to shut in my character, or attempt to change it, often to no avail.

My problems, I think to myself, are not as important as the problems of my quieter friends, or perhaps I can bear them in solitude while they need my support. To avoid plaguing the great unwashed with my petty worries, I sometimes experience an unusual form of insecurity within—repressing myself in fear of becoming an object of pretentious judgment among the masses.

With all my tireless efforts to be there for my countless family and friends, I have never felt so deeply alone in the universe. 

In retrospect, is such judgment worth my social health?

The obsession with personality types has seemingly caused a self-induced sense of ego among people. Such a concept suggests an array of unanswered questions. With 7.4 billion people in the world, can the masses truly be divided into these categories and nothing more? Why is there such a rising trend associated with introverts—are they all truly misunderstood, or just pining for a reputation of solitary intelligence and an air of mystery? Can it be that the extrovert-introvert ratio is truly imbalanced, or is it popular culture’s obsession with anti-socialites springing the self-proclamations?

Furthermore, the most damaging result of this new trend is that people are using their assumed introversion as a justification to avoid confrontation and conflict resolution. When push comes to shove, friendship should be void of social stigma, and interactions between friends should be genuine and loving, if not with equal effort from both ends. It takes two to tango.

In an era where practically everyone happens to be a proud, faux introvert in need of recognition, it has become increasingly rare to connect with my own kind, if not impossible. Introversion has reached beyond its genuine definition and has simply become the absence of extroversion. The greys in between have apparently vanished.

I have nothing against the nature of the truly introverted, don’t get me wrong. Some of my dearest friends are genuine introverts of varying degrees, and their character manifests in their daily interactions. They’re not forcing it into their ways or rubbing it into the faces of every person they meet.

When it comes to friendships, however, true introverts tend to be some of the most loyal and devoted companions. I love them for who they are and would never expect them to change.

However, a word to the seemingly infinite ocean of introverts out there: apologies, but you’re not special. Not relative to the other personality types that exist, anyhow. You, too, have a carnal need to live and a spiritual desire to touch base with the universe, and so do the rest of us. We may interact with the world around us differently, but that doesn’t negate the value of anyone’s character. Social opinion today needs to recognize (once again) that being an outgoing person is not an inherent evil, and we too are intellectual, mindful and have our moments.

As a writer, I spend a great deal of time in solitude composing meaningless manuscripts that might never see the light of day. Likewise, I enjoy poring over large texts, fumbling to grasp the ideas of intellectuals throughout history. But I am the most energetic in the presence of friends—sharing, connecting and disputing. People can make me feel so many things at once, often positivity and laughter, but also rage, jealousy and pain. These abstract, unreachable emotions are present in all of us, and brought out by our fellow human beings in the best and worst of times, evokes energy. For some people, this is a disaster. For me, however, it is a reminder that I am, indeed, still alive.