Leading Quietly

“Didn’t you hear me tell you to stop?” I asked, after running to catch up with a student.

“No. Teacher, you don’t talk so loud.”

It may sound ridiculous, but this simple interaction at the beginning of the summer was another blast to my confidence that I could do my job well, that I could do any teaching job well. Because I’ve heard things like this before, or sensed it--the lies surrounding simply the way I am that begin to obliterate the notion I have any leadership or authority or impact or influence.

I don’t have a loud voice. I don’t have a loud presence. I slither like a snake to get around people and am often stepped on and run into and hit in the head with sportz balls (yes, my favorite, sportZ). There have been numerous occasions in my life I’ve felt like I must have Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak over me.

I prefer quiet to loud, listening and writing to speaking, the beach to NYC, a game of Bananagrams to Charades. I’m a dreamer and a thinker and a feeler. The things that happen to me and around me quickly overwhelm; too much stimulation around me drains me of energy. Truthfully, my favorite part of every day is time alone and sleeping.

Some of you reading this may not believe I prefer solitude most of the time. You probably know well from talking to me or from Facebook or Instagram that I get out a lot. I’m around people a lot. The reality is, I have chosen to take on many positions and join many groups that have required me to step out and “put on” an extroverted self. Truly, the only reason I’m able to do all that I do is because I care so deeply about education, mentorship, and friendship. Social small talk pains me, but I can talk with a friend about our desires, heartaches, and future plans for hours; I’ll teach into lunch time just because I really want my students to gain an understanding of a story; I’ll participate in organized activity if it also means getting some one-on-one time with a high schooler who’s struggling so I may speak into her situation. But I’m able to recharge and thrive in solitude; I come back to who I am. In solitude, I feel the most like myself.

When I took my first Myers Briggs Test in high school, I finally knew the term that described me: I’m an introvert. I knew the type description fit me. Yet, I’ve spent a lot of years trying to fool others and myself. I knew, or thought I knew, that to be an extrovert was to be a leader. To be an extrovert meant I had a voice. To be an extrovert meant friendship. To be an extrovert meant success. To be an extrovert meant power. To be an extrovert was to be a fun, people-person. To be an extrovert meant glory and being well-liked.

I envied and even idolized extroverts, specifically in college. Sometimes I tried, or at least imagined, I was louder, more dynamic, bubbly. But I just didn’t feel like I had what it took to speak in front of large groups or enough boldness to share the gospel with a stranger. For most of my life I’ve felt too quiet, too timid, too inadequate.

Through reading Susan Cain’s book, “Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking,” I gained a better understanding of why my own worldview says extroverts are “better” and thus, I am inferior. And I breathed a sigh of relief as I read true stories of people that sounded just like me. I discovered some of the most influential leaders, innovators, writers, etc, are introverted, just like me, needing lots of time alone to develop ideas and create and reflect.

Cain explains at the beginning of the book how we have progressed from a “Culture of Character” to a “Culture of Personality.” We have gone from looking more at a person’s character to looking more at a person’s personality, learning from motivational speakers, media, our families, etc, that the extroverted personality is the most favorable. This movement began to put forth the idea that if your child is shy and likes to keep to him/herself, there is something wrong and he/she needs to be treated. We’re quick to diagnose social anxiety disorder when one third to one half of the population are simply introverts that are hard-wired to feel a bit nervous and anxious in social situations. Cain calls this cultural outlook the “Extroverted Ideal.”

This idea of an “Extroverted Ideal” was eye-opening for me. I immediately applied it to my first experiences on my teacher-journey.

From a young age, teaching captivated my attention. I loved school, homework, helping my brothers with homework, and I idolized my teachers growing up; I wanted to do what they did for me--to help, instruct, share love and creativity and knowledge, and be an important part of children’s development. I’m a nurturer, a giver, a lover of people and life and learning. Naturally, teaching seemed like a great fit and a practical career choice.

And then I got to Taylor and started the Elementary Education program, and I felt...different. I didn’t feel like I fit the mold. I quickly came to believe that my mostly extroverted peers were superior to me. They must make better teachers based on their ability to give presentations, their enthusiasm around kids, their colorful creativity.

And I convinced myself in so many other areas that I was inferior as well. I wanted to lead in different areas--small groups, youth conference, discipleship assistant--and was able to take on a few leadership positions that interested me. But I always believed others were better at them. Others seemed to enjoy standing on chairs and yelling, speaking in front of people, and being the center of attention. From my perspective, I wasn’t a bad leader, but I could be more. I knew I had something to contribute to students and peers, but it couldn’t be nearly as much as one of the extroverted leaders.

This “Culture of Personality” I believe has influenced us all far more than we realize, especially for all my fellow introverts. I’m sure you can relate to feeling inadequate, unsuccessful, or inferior compared to some of our extroverted friends who seem to take on the world with ease, get their way, feel more comfortable around people, make eloquent speeches, and navigate the dating world with expertise.

We have to push harder in this world to “get ahead,” to feel like we have a voice, to do something noteworthy, to just be noticed sometimes instead of stepped on. And we introverts are typically sensitive types who hold back when we get stepped on, ignored, beaten up with words and the ways of the world.

How do we introverts become leaders? How can we as a society begin reclaiming a Culture of Character? In what ways can we lead without a podium or megaphone? How do we begin to start believing we have a powerful voice and can make some of the best leaders of our world? How do we relinquish our preconceived notions that we were made to be followers, not leaders?

Because the truth is, introverts are not destined to be followers of gregarious extroverts; in fact, gregarious extroverts work wonderfully under the leadership of reflective introverts. (Read Cain’s book for several real life examples.)

I aspire to be a leader like Rosa Parks or Jane Addams, like some of my favorite writers, Rachel Held Evans, Anne Lamott, and Sarah Bessey. These women have lead and lead with heart, soul, truthfulness, femininity, strength, and humility. They are not the “Oprah’s” of the world, but instead, choose to lead just as effectively in a different and quieter way.

Give me a keyboard instead of a microphone, a child instead of a congregation, a guitar instead of a megaphone. Empowered and equipped and educated, I will lead.

In fact, we need a lot more leaders who are empowered, equipped, and educated before we give them a megaphone or computer or congregation.

Rachel Held Evans recently wrote an article on her blog about Mark Driscoll, opening up our eyes to the awful reality behind a man that Christians have been idolizing and looking to for Truth for years (See:  http://rachelheldevans.com/blog/driscoll-troubled-mind-william-wallace). This is a perfect example of how our culture has shifted to caring more about personality than character. Give us an attractive personality, and character can be excused a bit. We’ll give him grace. We’ll forgive him again and again for saying these awful things because his sermons are just so darn mesmerizing. Would we forgive him and exalt him if he weren’t a great speaker? If he was an introvert? Isn’t it scary how much we glorify personality over character and integrity?

So my prayer and hope is that we, introverts and extroverts alike, begin to lead with integrity and dignity, recognizing each of our individual strengths as tools of empowerment in a world that is desperate for voices of hope, joy, peace, and faith.

There is not one way to lead. There never has been and there never will be. Sometimes the written word to five people can be more powerful than a sermon to five thousand. Sometimes the best teachers are those that reflect on a lesson rather than create a colorful bulletin board. Sometimes a song created in hours of solitude can influence more than a public testimony.

There is not one way to lead. You are not a worse leader than someone else. You are powerful. You are important. And if you have accepted Jesus’ grace, you are empowered by the Spirit. You do not need to fear. You do not need to follow a prescribed plan of action. You do not need to compare yourself with others in your field. You need to pray. You need to figure out what your heart is telling you to do, and do it. Lead with humility and dignity and grace and most of all, love.

Our voices are powerful, no matter their decibel levels.

Amen.