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

settled
populations, people
with this same gene form have 
poorer
nutrition. The same traits that
make a nomad fierce enough to hunt and to defend livestock against
raiders may hinder more sedentary activities like farming, selling goods
at the market, or focusing at school.
Or consider this trade-off: human extroverts have more sex partners
than introverts do—a boon to any species wanting to reproduce itself—
but they commit more adultery and divorce more frequently, which is
not a good thing for the children of all those couplings. Extroverts
exercise more, but introverts suffer fewer accidents and traumatic
injuries. Extroverts enjoy wider networks of social support, but commit
more crimes. As Jung speculated almost a century ago about the two
types, “the one [extroversion] consists in a high rate of fertility, with low
powers of defense and short duration of life for the single individual; the
other [introversion] consists in equipping the individual with numerous
means of self-preservation plus a low fertility rate.”
The trade-off theory may even apply to entire species. Among
evolutionary biologists, who tend to subscribe to the vision of lone
individuals hell-bent on reproducing their own DNA, the idea that
species include individuals whose traits promote group survival is hotly
debated and, not long ago, could practically get you kicked out of the
academy. But this view is slowly gaining acceptance. Some scientists
even speculate that the evolutionary basis for traits like sensitivity is

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heightened compassion for the suffering of other members of one’s
species, especially one’s family.
But you don’t have to go that far. As Aron explains, it makes sense
that animal groups depend on their sensitive members for survival.
“Suppose a herd of antelope … has a few members who are constantly
stopping their grazing to use their keen senses to watch for predators,”
she writes. “Herds with such sensitive, watchful individuals would
survive better, and so continue to breed, and so continue to have some
sensitive individuals born in the group.”
And why should it be any different for humans? We need our Eleanor
Roosevelts as surely as grazing herds depend on their sensitive
antelopes.
In addition to “shy” and “bold” animals, and to “fast” and “slow” ones,
biologists sometimes speak of the “hawk” and “dove” members of a
given species. Great tit birds, for example, some of whom are much more
aggressive than others, often act like case studies in an international
relations class. These birds feed on beech tree nuts, and in years when
nuts are scarce, the hawkish female birds do better, just as you’d expect,
because they’re quick to challenge nut-eating competitors to a duel. But
in seasons when there are plenty of beech nuts to go around, the female
“doves”—who, incidentally, tend to make more attentive mothers—do
better than the “hawks,” because the hawks waste time and bodily
health getting into fights for no good reason.
Male great tits, on the other hand, have the opposite pattern. This is
because their main role in life is not to find food but to defend territory.
In years when food is scarce, so many of their fellow tit birds die of
hunger that there’s enough space for all. The hawkish males then fall
into the same trap as their female comrades during nutty seasons—they
brawl, squandering precious resources with each bloody battle. But in
good years, when competition for nesting territory heats up, aggression
pays for the hawkish male tit bird.
During times of war or fear—the human equivalent of a bad nut season
for female tit birds—it might seem that what we need most are

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aggressive heroic types. But if our entire population consisted of
warriors, there would be no one to notice, let alone battle, potentially
deadly but far quieter threats like viral disease or climate change.
Consider Vice President Al Gore’s decades-long crusade to raise
awareness of global warming. Gore is, by many accounts, an introvert.
“If you send an introvert into a reception or an event with a hundred
other people he will emerge with less energy than he had going in,” says
a former aide. “Gore needs a rest after an event.” Gore acknowledges
that his skills are not conducive to stumping and speechmaking. “Most
people in politics draw energy from backslapping and shaking hands and
all that,” he has said. “I draw energy from discussing ideas.”
But combine that passion for thought with attention to subtlety—both
common characteristics of introverts—and you get a very powerful mix.
In 1968, when Gore was a college student at Harvard, he took a class
with an influential oceanographer who presented early evidence linking
the burning of fossil fuels with the greenhouse effect. Gore’s ears perked
up.
He tried to tell others what he knew. But he found that people
wouldn’t listen. It was as if they couldn’t hear the alarm bells that rang
so loudly in his ears.
“When I went to Congress in the middle of the 1970s, I helped
organize the first hearings on global warming,” he recalls in the Oscar-
winning movie