A crust eaten in peace is better than a banquet partaken in anxiety.

The Town Mouse and The Country Mouse, Aesop’s Fables

It’s 7:05am, in a strange urban neighborhood, so I reluctantly valet unsure of my cash.  In the clubhouse lobby, well-heeled people mingle under a bright chandelier.  Kitchen staff in formalwear do not make eye contact as they pad past on Persian rugs bearing stainless trays of steaming eggs and onion.  Silverware clinks in the dining room.  I peek in, looking for my student and his parents, and see black linens set on white tablecloth.  My suede bucks are a breed apart from all the high-sheen leather.  I’m less comfortable than I should be in corduroy jacket and elbow patches, the not-so-relaxed fit of a public educator.

Introverts feel “just right” with less stimulation, as when they solve a crossword puzzle or read a book.  Extroverts enjoy the extra bang that comes from activities like meeting new people.

Quiet, Susan Cain

I spot my name-tag sticker arrayed on a table.  Correct spelling, small font, it lacks a title or school.  Too much white space.  I peel the sticker and scan the lobby for clues where to stick it.  Standing in a corner, the Groucho Marx line creeps in, ‘Please accept my resignation.  I don’t care to belong to any club that will accept me as a member.’

I consider a seat alone in the dining room when a Rotarian approaches – a dapper gent in a bow tie and navy blazer, a gold pin on the lapel – and asks, “Parent or teacher?”  A platter of mimosas would be nice, I think, a time I would’ve grabbed a flute with each hand.  He continues, “Been here before?  Seems half are first-timers,” his own pre-breakfast polling results.

… many high-reactives become writers or pick other intellectual vocations where ‘you’re in charge: you close the door, pull down the shades and do your work.  You’re protected from encountering unexpected things.’

On this particular morning, the Midtown Atlanta Rotary Club and PAGE (Professional Association of Georgia Educators) are gathered at the Ansley Golf Clubhouse for their annual recognition of the Fulton County seniors – STAR students – who scored highest on the SAT at their high school, and also ranked top ten (or ten percent) GPA in their graduating class.  Each school is represented by a student and each student selects a teacher.

The dapper Rotarian asks about our budget.  Our budget was once supplemented by PTO money for teacher grants, the program ending abruptly for reasons unexplained years ago.  I miss it, having benefitted to the tune of $400 of physics lab equipment annually.

I bring up none of this, but say I’m fortunate to serve in a supportive community, then add, “My commute is twenty minutes.  On foot.”  He says it’s nice when teachers can afford to live in the community where they teach; a comment I find odd, unsure whether he’s referring to suburban real estate or inner-city, Milton real estate or something else entirely.  I think of the dilapidated neighborhood I just drove through (not far from the section of I-85 set ablaze in March ’17 by a homeless man with a lighter and a fuel load of seventy-six reels of DOT high-density polyethylene conduit and nine racks of fiberglass conduit) and I’m stumped, at a loss for what to say next.

Studies show that we rank fast and frequent talkers as more competent, likable, and even smarter than slow ones.

The Rotarian wanders off and I’m thrown again when I see a Milton student, not my guy, but a song-and-dance man with the lead in our musical, Curtains.  Turns out, he’s Milton’s co-STAR, tying my guy for top SAT score.  I had the two in the same physics class last year.  His mom looks familiar.

“We met on parent night,” Mom says, “I see you walking home from school.”  She has cascading curls of red hair to match her personality – warm and inviting.  She’s outgoing, and you’d think her leading-man son the same, but if I had to label him, I’d categorize his personality as shy extrovert.

You can be a shy extrovert, like Barbara Streisand, who has a larger-than-life personality and paralyzing stage fright…

In my class, he’d hardly said boo.  A few weeks ago, Cheryl and I watched him play Cioffi, the Boston detective in Curtains, where he affected a convincing pahk-the-cah-in-Hahvud-yahd accent, postured with the comedic timing of Sellers’ Clouseau, and all the while carried a soulful, baritone tune.  Yet my personality assessment misses the mark – he hid my ascribed stage fright well.  Perhaps his physics classroom quiescence was due to a lack of theater friends (or not liking physics, or not connecting with his teacher) than his personality.

Every behavior has more than one cause.  When writers and journalists talk, they want to see a one-to-one relationship – one behavior, one cause.  But it’s really important that you see, for behaviors like slow-to-warm-up, shyness, impulsivity, there are many routes to that.

Finally, I see my guy, maybe the quietest student I’ve ever taught, walk into the lobby by himself.  He’s confident, composed in a navy suit that adds four years.  A non-shy introvert.

…a non-shy introvert like Bill Gates, who by all accounts keeps to himself but is unfazed by the opinions of others.

His parents are parking the car.  “Find the place ok?” I ask.

Barely above a whisper, he says, “My mom got lost.”  He grins.

I direct my guy to the table of name tags, agonizing, irrationally, hoping his is there.  What’s the matter with me?  Woody Allen may have said it best:  Early in life I was visited by the bluebird of anxiety.

Mom and Dad walk up, dressed nicely.  I ask, “How was the drive?”  Mom says no problem, she commutes downtown daily.  Her answer does not compute, at odds with her son’s got lost, and just like that, I’m hung up again, like the spinning wheel of a slow-to-process Mac.  A Rotarian ushers us to our dining seats.

***

Where do you fall on the introvert/extrovert; shy/anxious spectrum? Click here for a short personality test.

***

I’d first learned of my STAR teacher status by email.  My first thought, is this for real?  A legitimate, unanticipated award notice by email?  My guy hadn’t notified me. It was last year that I’d had him in class.  A week later, another email:

Will you be attending?

I tracked down my guy, two doors down in AP Chemistry.

Our AP chemistry teacher had been honored as STAR teacher a few years ago.  “Dress nice.  People will be in suits,” she advised, “And prepare something to say.  Students say a few words about their teacher and teachers speak about their student.  Take the day off.  Enjoy it.”

Public speaking is the number-one fear in America, far more common than the fear of death.

Sociobiologist E. O. Wilson posits the origin of public speaking anxiety as ancestral survival instinct.  Isolated on the savannah, having strange eyes on you meant that you were prey, a potential meal for an animal far swifter than you.  Now try being witty and charming at the podium, fearing that what’s for dessert is you.

I knew better than to wing it.  I prepared a few words.

***

The emcee Rotarian takes the microphone, “The Georgia Chamber of Commerce created the STAR program in 1958, and has honored nearly 27,000 students and the teachers they have selected as the most influential to their academic achievement.”

The emcee calls to the podium the student-teacher pairs listed on the breakfast program from Alpharetta, Banneker, Cambridge.  From the edge of my seat, I notice my guy on the edge of his.  The Alpharetta student steps to the mike.

The type that is ‘sensitive’ or ‘reactive’ would reflect a strategy of observing carefully before acting thus avoiding dangers, failures, and wasted energy which would require a nervous system specially designed to observe and detect subtle differences.

What would my guy say?  Could this calm, gentle-as-bended-grass, baby lamb even speak loud enough to be heard, let alone rip off a roaring speech to a pack of hungry lions?

Earlier, nibbling strips of bacon, he’d let me know of his admission into Georgia Tech.  I’d written him a recommendation letter.  I asked, “It’s Tech then?”

“I’ve applied to Duke.  Some Ivies.”

“Harvard?”

“Yes.”

“You know,” I said, “Harvard has over 3500 applicants with perfect math SAT scores and only admits 2000 students annually.”

“I know the statistics,” Aayush perked up.  He put down his bacon and looked at me, “They’re being sued for their admission policies.  They admit based on three criteria: academics, extra-curriculars, and personal qualities.  Asian-Americans score significantly lower on Harvard’s personality tests.  Other personality tests show Asians score on a par with non-Asians.”

I wondered if Harvard admissions might be biased, favoring the more outgoing, extroverted applicants.  I am guilty of this, inviting students out of their shells to share their answers and thoughts and mental processes out loud, prodding, favoring the verbally engaged versus the silent, mentally engaged.

We perceive talkers as smarter than quiet types – even though grade-point averages and SAT and intelligence test scores reveal this perception to be inaccurate.  In one experiment in which two strangers met over the phone, those who spoke more were considered more intelligent, better looking, and more likable.

From the podium, students are thoughtful and sincere and say nice things.  Themes emerge.  Some pick teachers who inspire further study or make the arduous (think AP Calculus BC) less so.  Language Arts teachers, predictably, are recognized as inspirations (think ‘Seize the day, boys’).  Some teachers instill life lessons, run chess clubs, lead debate teams, sponsor field trips, build adolescent confidence or uncover an unknown talent; others provide a safe space to watch pro soccer streaming on a big screen at lunch.

The students leave the podium, teacher in tow, where they receive certificates and pose in front of a big blue-and-gold Rotarian banner for photographs. Teachers are not asked to speak this year.

My guy steps to the mike.  “My name is Aayush.  I picked Mr. Hogya, my AP Physics teacher, because of the time he puts into demonstrations and labs.  We shot marble launchers to study projectile motion.  We dropped bouncy balls from the second floor to study collisions.  And we walked long planks balancing a tray of water bottles perched on the end of a long stick to study torque and angular momentum.  I’m pretty sure I got wet at the end of that one.”  The line draws laughs, about to step away, Aayush adds, “And I realized I could major in biomedical engineering rather than just something like biology.”

In a gentle way, you can shake the world. 

Mahatma Gandhi

After the speeches, but before the group photo concluding the event, I have a minute to chat with Aayush’s mom.  I express my gratitude and pleasure with her son’s words, adding my relief, not having to give the speech that I’d prepared for him.

She squares up, arms folded, says, “Let’s hear it.”

Many people, especially those in leadership roles, engage in a certain level of pretend-extroversion.

Dad turns to listen.

“There’s this book titled, Quiet, The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking.  It’s written by an introvert, popular with introverts, partial to introverts.  My guy Aayush is quiet, so quiet, the kids sitting near him in class last year got startled every time he blinked.”

Dad laughs.  From Mom – a marble statue, think Diana, Roman Goddess of the Hunt – I get nothing.

Self-monitors are highly skilled at modifying their behavior to the social demands of a situation.  They look for cues to tell them how to act.  When a self-monitor makes a great speech, it’s partly because they’re self-monitoring every moment, continually checking their audience for subtle signs of pleasure or boredom and adjusting their presentation to meet their needs.

I remember to breathe and continue.

“Quiet’s message is this: introverts make good leaders too.  It’s a matter of substance over style.  Forgive me then, while I finish with a word on my guy’s style: he’s a dashing deep-thinker; he’s got a flair for deliberate attention; and the kid has such a chic analytical skill, so finely-tailored, I’d be proud to wear it as my own.  Extroverts rule the world; introverts write their speeches.  One way or the other, Aayush could end up in the White House some day.”

Dad smiles proudly, says thank you.  Mom twists a grape from the twig on her plate and says, “He gets his physics from his Dad.”

Outside on the polished steps, I hand my ticket to the valet, relieved to find singles in my wallet.  I scan the horizon.  There’s a breeze, the morning light diffused.  I’m left thinking my speech worked much better on paper.  Before driving home, I make a note in my journal: when practicing my next speech, visualizing the audience before me, be sure to include a mother, standing smack dab before me, arrow drawn, licking her chops.

Deliver on that, I’m free as a bird.