Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can\'t Stop Talking pdfdrive com

over
-aroused by the loud noise, but they also 
under
performed
—taking an average of 9.1 trials rather than 5.8 to learn the game. The
opposite was true for the extroverts—they were under-aroused (and
possibly bored) by the quieter conditions, and took an average of 7.3
trials, compared with the 5.4 they’d averaged under noisier conditions.
When combined with Kagan’s findings on high reactivity, this line of
studies offers a very empowering lens through which to view your
personality. Once you understand introversion and extroversion as
preferences for certain levels of stimulation, you can begin consciously
trying to situate yourself in environments favorable to your own
personality—neither overstimulating nor understimulating, neither
boring nor anxiety-making. You can organize your life in terms of what
personality psychologists call “optimal levels of arousal” and what I call
“sweet spots,” and by doing so feel more energetic and alive than before.
Your sweet spot is the place where you’re optimally stimulated. You
probably seek it out already without being aware that you’re doing so.
Imagine that you’re lying contentedly in a hammock reading a great
novel. This is a sweet spot. But after half an hour you realize that you’ve
read the same sentence five times; now you’re understimulated. So you
call a friend and go out for brunch—in other words, you ratchet up your
stimulation level—and as you laugh and gossip over blueberry pancakes,
you’re back, thank goodness, inside your sweet spot. But this agreeable
state lasts only until your friend—an extrovert who needs much more
stimulation than you do—persuades you to accompany her to a block
party, where you’re now confronted by loud music and a sea of

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strangers.
Your friend’s neighbors seem affable enough, but you feel pressured to
make small talk above the din of music. Now—bang, just like that—
you’ve fallen out of your sweet spot, except this time you’re
over
stimulated. And you’ll probably feel that way until you pair off with
someone on the periphery of the party for an in-depth conversation, or
bow out altogether and return to your novel.
Imagine how much better you’ll be at this sweet-spot game once
you’re aware of playing it. You can set up your work, your hobbies, and
your social life so that you spend as much time inside your sweet spot as
possible. People who are aware of their sweet spots have the power to
leave jobs that exhaust them and start new and satisfying businesses.
They can hunt for homes based on the temperaments of their family
members—with cozy window seats and other nooks and crannies for the
introverts, and large, open living-dining spaces for the extroverts.
Understanding your sweet spot can increase your satisfaction in every
arena of your life, but it goes even further than that. Evidence suggests
that sweet spots can have life-or-death consequences. According to a
recent study of military personnel conducted through the Walter Reed
Army Institute of Research, introverts function better than extroverts
when sleep deprived, which is a cortically de-arousing condition
(because losing sleep makes us less alert, active, and energetic). Drowsy
extroverts behind the wheel should be especially careful—at least until
they increase their arousal levels by chugging coffee or cranking up the
radio. Conversely, introverts driving in loud, overly arousing traffic noise
should work to stay focused, since the noise may impair their thinking.
Now that we know about optimal levels of stimulation, Esther’s
problem—winging it at the podium—also makes sense. Overarousal
interferes with attention and short-term memory—key components of
the ability to speak on the fly. And since public speaking is an inherently
stimulating activity—even for those, like Esther, who suffer no stage
fright—introverts can find their attention impaired just when they need
it most. Esther could live to be a one-hundred-year-old lawyer, in other
words, the most knowledgeable practitioner in her field, and she might
never be comfortable speaking extemporaneously. She might find herself
perpetually unable, at speech time, to draw on the massive body of data
sitting inside her long-term memory.

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But once Esther understands herself, she can insist to her colleagues
that they give her advance notice of any speaking events. She can
practice her speeches and find herself well inside her sweet spot when
finally she reaches the podium. She can prepare the same way for client
meetings, networking events, even casual meetings with her colleagues
—any situation of heightened intensity in which her short-term memory
and the ability to think on her feet might be a little more compromised
than usual.
Esther managed to solve her problem from the comfort of her sweet spot.
Yet sometimes stretching beyond it is our only choice. Some years ago I
decided that I wanted to conquer my fear of public speaking. After much
hemming and hawing, I signed up for a workshop at the Public
Speaking–Social Anxiety Center of New York. I had my doubts; I felt like
a garden-variety shy person, and I didn’t like the pathological sound of
the term “social anxiety.” But the class was based on desensitization
training, an approach that made sense to me. Often used as a way to
conquer phobias, desensitization involves exposing yourself (and your
amygdala) to the thing you’re afraid of over and over again, in
manageable doses. This is very different from the well-meaning but
unhelpful advice that you should just jump in at the deep end and try to
swim—an approach that 
might
work, but more likely will produce panic,
further encoding in your brain a cycle of dread, fear, and shame.
I found myself in good company. There were about fifteen people in
the class, which was led by Charles di Cagno, a wiry, compact man with
warm brown eyes and a sophisticated sense of humor. Charles is himself
a veteran of exposure therapy. Public speaking anxiety doesn’t keep him
up at night anymore, he says, but fear is a wily enemy and he’s always
working to get the better of it.
The workshop had been in session for a few weeks before I joined, but
Charles assured me that newcomers were welcome. The group was more
diverse than I expected. There was a fashion designer with long, curly
hair, bright lipstick, and pointy snakeskin boots; a secretary with thick
glasses and a clipped, matter-of-fact manner, who talked a lot about her

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Mensa membership; a couple of investment bankers, tall and athletic; an
actor with black hair and vivid blue eyes who bounded cheerfully across
the room in his Puma sneakers but claimed to be terrified the entire
time; a Chinese software designer with a sweet smile and a nervous
laugh. A regular cross-section of New Yorkers, really. It might have been
a class in digital photography or Italian cooking.
Except that it wasn’t. Charles explained that each of us would speak in
front of the group, but at an anxiety level we could handle.
A martial arts instructor named Lateesha was first up that evening.
Lateesha’s assignment was to read aloud to the class from a Robert Frost
poem. With her dreadlocks and wide smile, Lateesha looked as if she
wasn’t afraid of anything. But as she got ready to speak, her book
propped open at the podium, Charles asked how anxious she was, on a
scale of 1 to 10.
“At least seven,” said Lateesha.
“Take it slow,” he said. “There are only a few people out there who
can completely overcome their fears, and they all live in Tibet.”
Lateesha read the poem clearly and quietly, with only the slightest
tremor in her voice. When she was finished, Charles beamed proudly.
“Stand up please, Lisa,” he said, addressing an attractive young
marketing director with shiny black hair and a gleaming engagement
ring. “It’s your turn to offer feedback. Did Lateesha look nervous?”
“No,” said Lisa.
“I was really scared, though,” Lateesha said.
“Don’t worry, no one could tell,” Lisa assured her.
The others nodded their heads vigorously.