I Know Which Dwarf I'd Be

There's been a story in the back of my mind that has been searching for something tangible to link it to. I finally found it in today's newspaper.

A neuroscientist recently published a paper concluding extroverts and introverts process information, restore energy, and communicate differently. I flunked junior high biology and had that figured out a while back. Apparently, the two groups use different parts of the brain to gather and decipher information. The perception of events determines how we react to them.

I bought a book in high school titled "The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind." I'll admit I bought the book because of the intimidating title and page length, but it really is a fascinating book. It devotes considerable space to the proposition that less developed homo sapiens devoted more cranial space to the mysteries of life - the conjuring of mythology, religion, and other creative pursuits like diagramming the constellations. Because there was less hard information to gather and store, the primitive brain could function more like a synthesizer than a hard drive. The modern brain (meaning going back to the third millennium B.C.) evolved to form separate regions that now serve as centers for specific cognitive functions.

Who knows what the brain will look like in the next millennium or two. Considering our creative pursuits, as manifested in modern pop culture, it may resemble a bowl of dried-out oatmeal - and work with the same proficiency.

But getting back to the story:

I've been an introvert longer than I can remember. I'm blessed to find happiness and comfort in solitude; it usually recharges me, mentally and physically. As a result, I've learned not to be lonely when I'm alone. To be perfectly honest, I'm more likely to be lonely in a room full of people (even people I've known for years) than I am in my self-imposed exile. Not a knock on the people I know - that's just the way I am.

A couple of weeks ago, I went to church with my parents. For the past three years, my father has been the president of the branch created for college-aged kids. They are able to meet separate from the older adults and families who attend the larger congregation and focus on the concerns unique to their age group.

As I found a seat next to my mother, I noticed two older couples in front of me who now work with the college kids. I've known both couples since I was five years old. One couple, the Campbells, is my brother's in-laws; the other guy, Kramer, served as my church's bishop when I was a youth while his wife worked with the young women.

So for much of the service, my mind wandered as I thought about age as a relative condition.

We moved to Wimberley when I was five years old, the same age my older nephew is now. The Campbells and the Kramers were among the first families that we met, I'm sure. And even though they seemed old back then, I can now realize I've probably changed more (at least in physical appearance) in the last 27 years than they have.

Halfway through the service, a young mother came in with her newborn. And I do mean young mother; she's 20. Likewise, I've known her and her family since they moved to the San Marcos area about 15 years ago. It made the circle of life (cue music) more complete that she, too, was about five years old when her family started going to church in San Marcos.

After the service, I began talking to Kramer about how seeing the college kids, especially the ones I've known since their adolescence, made me feel old. He told me a couple of stories about some of the kids that went to church there now. He pointed to one kid across the room he's known for quite some time and said, by introduction, "That kid was shyer than you were growing up." Knowing how shy I was as a teenager and barely believing somebody could out-do me, I exclaimed that the kid in question must have been a veritable hermit.

I made the comment with an aim toward jocularity; but I realized its sharp truth as the words hung from my lips in a little word bubble.

As the years pass, I have learned to become less demure in certain social functions, mostly work related.

I always joke with Melissa that she wouldn't recognize me at a social function. Since they are typically working parties for me, I always feel like I'm on stage. I have a certain role and lines I must get out. I must meet new people and find interesting things to say; and laugh when they make jokes. Work Neil can be lively and engaging and interesting; Regular Neil can be pretty dull.

And since most of the social functions related to work were political in nature, Melissa often stayed home. Knowing that politics didn't interest her, added to my not being able to always dote over her, it was easier to go stag.

One thing remained constant: I'd come home mentally and physically exhausted. Being social sapped all my energy.

So I feel sorry for this kid; if he's naturally shyer than I am, he must go quasi-narcoleptic just walking down the street saying hello.