I Am Not an Introvert! – The Birth of an Amandare
A few years ago, I found myself sitting through yet another professional development (PD) meeting at school. For veteran teachers like me, these sessions often seemed like exercises in frustration. “Principal Demoralization,” we’d joke, because the message was always the same: if we old-timers would only embrace the latest, shiny new teaching techniques—like the rookies—our students would thrive.
The rookies, of course, had no choice but to nod along. Lacking tenure, they’d enthusiastically prepare entire “Esson Lay Lans Pay” ‘in Pig Latin if asked. We veterans, however, tolerated these meetings simply because we had to.
One session sticks out in my mind. We were asked to break into groups based on whether we considered ourselves introverts or extroverts. Out of 20 teachers, 17 proudly declared themselves extroverts. Only three of us, myself included, identified as introverts.
However, standing there in that circle, something didn’t sit right with me. It wasn’t that I felt out of place among the “extroverts,” but that I didn’t fully relate to the “introverts” either. Surely there was more to this dichotomy than just inward or outward personalities. Where did people like me fit in, those who don’t necessarily withdraw into themselves but instead *turn away* from things that are, frankly, annoying?
That’s when it hit me—there needed to be a third group, one I would call the **Amandares**. Borrowing from the Latin word "amandare," meaning to turn away, this would be the category for those of us who don’t shy away from social interaction because we’re uncomfortable but because we choose to step back when the conversation becomes insufferable.
To be clear, I don’t believe introversion is simply a matter of turning inward. It implies a certain struggle to fit in, a constant battle to connect with others. And, in modern macho lingo, extroverts—those boisterous, assertive Alphas—are praised for their outgoing natures, while introverts are viewed as timid Betas. But this framework is too simplistic for someone like me.
You see, I don’t turn inward; I turn away. And I do it for a reason: self-preservation from the constant barrage of pointless chatter. Take, for example, your typical staff meeting. There are always those few who feel the need to repeat the obvious or speak up just for the sake of hearing their own voices. They aren’t contributing anything new, and yet, they dominate the room. To walk away from that isn’t retreating in the introverted sense; it’s a deliberate rejection of the nonsense being served.
For me, being an Amandare is almost an act of defiance. It takes courage to disengage from the hot air, to not be swept up in the relentless tide of trivial conversation. If more of us did this, perhaps fewer people would feel the need to pontificate in the first place. Sometimes silence—or simply walking away—can be a profound statement in a world that never stops talking.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I think I’m better than others, or that extroverts lack intelligence. Many of them are highly intelligent. But there’s a difference between being intelligent and always needing to convince others to adopt your point of view. That’s where my turning away comes in. I’m not interested in being persuaded by arguments that lack substance, even if they’re delivered with the force of a thousand extroverted voices.
So no, I’m not an introvert. I’m not someone who simply turns inward because I’m shy or overwhelmed. I’m someone who turns away, someone who disengages when the conversation no longer serves a purpose. I am an Amandare. I seek out people who offer genuine thoughts and engage in meaningful dialogue. I don’t need the endless noise that so often accompanies extroverted banter. A little introspection before speaking wouldn’t hurt anyone.
But for now, I’ll have to pause my reflection. I promised my partner I’d do the dishes about an hour ago, and I’d rather not face her frustration in an extroverted manner!