some important places with their respective distances

I watched Susan Cain’s TED talk “The Power of Introverts” today. She explains how American society came to value charisma and personality over contemplation and quiet reflection–that is, how extroversion become the norm to which we introverts were supposed to aspire. She speaks of the value and the necessity of solitude for introverts, and calls on everyone to respect and facilitate that way of being. Importantly, she also distinguishes between being an introvert and being shy.

After watching the talk I immediately ordered a copy of Cain’s book, entitled Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking. Then I sent the link to her talk to my grandfather, a retired minister (Cain’s was a rabbi), who, like Cain’s grandfather and Cain and me, is an introvert. Actually, I think he was the first person who ever told me what it means to be an introvert or its opposite. Keep reading…

“Solitude is a catalyst for innovation.” – Susan Cain’s Manifesto

“Despair young and never look back.” – Samuel Beckett (via The Cat’s Table)

Culture shock always surprises me with its subtlety. It would be easier, I think, if the signs were indeed as drastic as the word “shock” suggests they should be. But my experience is not so straightforward.

I’ve come home to a place I know very well, and perhaps the most shocking part about it just how familiar it is. It doesn’t surprise me to use tap water to brush my teeth or walk outside in tight jeans and a t-shirt that clings to my breasts. It doesn’t surprise me to get behind the wheel of the car and drive through orderly traffic on the right side of the road to go to Whole Foods. It doesn’t surprise me to see the aisles of goods, all packaged and labeled and government-approved, every one of them safe for my consumption. Keep reading…

The moment I keep coming back to is when we ran. Asha’s slimness, her yellow salwar kameez, her small, damp hand pulling me along behind her. Once or twice she glanced back to look at me; she was laughing just like I was. We were running simply because we could, and because it felt joyous to run. It felt like being a kid again. Like finally making it to the front of the line for a ride at the fair at the end of summer in middle school: a girlfriend next to me, some boys our age a few rows behind, the exaggerated way we burst forth, our relief and disappointment that the anticipation that something might happen was suddenly over. Keep reading…