Four and thirty years ago tomorrow, my husband Harry and I were married. He chose June 30th, thus ensuring that he would never commit a faux pas as to the actual date. He’s an accountant and likes to arrange his numbers in memorable fashion. A little OCD in there, of course, but it’s all good. He’s never forgotten.
Harry is also an extrovert. He loves him some parties. All kinds of parties. Anytime parties. The longer and bigger the better kinds of parties. I like parties, too. But, as an introvert, I define “party” as getting together with one to three close friends. For a preset limited amount of time.
There have, of course, been a lot of other curious moments in our marriage. Not all of them had to do directly with introvert-extrovert issues, but our way of communicating definitely flowed from those characteristics. There were a lot of “he said she said” complications along the way.
About four years ago, we stopped assuming that we were speaking the same language. A lot of it grew from Harry’s deep and abiding love for me, and his desire to understand and be understood. I came out of my introverted shell and learned to ask for clarification.
I now go to occasional parties with a smile; Harry packs up and we go home when I’ve had enough. Sometimes he goes to a party while I stay home. We’ve found some things that we both enjoy doing, and some things we enjoy doing on our own. And it only took about 30 years. I think he’s a keeper.
Talk to me. Do you have any stories about introvert-extrovert moments? How did it turn out?