Life-and-soul or Lifeless Soul?
I’ve always envied people who can slot themselves into any social situation and feel at ease. They can swan into a room full of strangers, whether a party or a conference, and within minutes be part of an animated conversation. If you are an extrovert, it’s something you don’t even think about – it just happens naturally. If you’re an introvert, it’s something you have to work at.
My mother despaired: my favourite option at a party was in a corner with a book. Things did change as I grew up, though: I moved on to lurking by the stereo with a record sleeve.
When you have to learn how to develop a social persona, the challenge is knowing how to pitch it right. You may think you’ve nailed it, and then along comes someone to prove you wrong. That person is often American (no national stereotypes here!). Just when I was confident that I’d finally managed to craft a warm and outgoing demeanour that enabled me to negotiate all social situations, I met Claire, an American academic who was unbridled in her enthusiasms and effusions. In her presence I felt like a pallid pudding devoid of a single interesting idea.
It works both ways, though, as I found to my cost when travelling with a colleague for work. In an attempt to lubricate the social wheels, I kept my novel firmly in my bag, and began to talk about the accommodation available in Liverpool, where we were headed. I described a hotel conveniently located near Lime Street Station with cladding that made it look, appropriately, like an ocean liner. She eyed me sternly: ‘Oh, do you like that sort of thing?’
I was far too gracious to answer ‘No, you fool, I’m just making polite conversation!’ Again, I’d been wrong-footed, and left feeling like the most garrulous flibbertigibbet that ever walked the earth.
I had the art of polite conversation drilled into me as a child, perhaps because I had legions of great-aunts whom I only saw on high days and holidays. (Yet now I’m a great-aunt myself, I can forgive a certain amount of rude conversation from anyone under the age of six, knowing, as I do, that their principal preoccupation is poo.)
Intermittently, I make great efforts to engage strangers in conversation at social gatherings, and it’s always gone well, so I don’t quite know what’s so terrifying about it. According to the British Psychological Society, talking to strangers is even good for our wellbeing, increasing feelings of connectedness and broadening our view of life. But what if that’s cancelled out by the damaging effect of the stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline flooding the introvert’s system when they are called upon to face this ordeal?
Anyway, if you see someone at a party in a corner, rearranging the canapés, it’ll probably be me, so please come over and put me out of my misery.