I approached the guru through LinkedIn, intending to give him a polite nudge through a professional network (or so they say...seems like the quality of posts from my LinkedIn contacts has deteriorated of late, as people upload insipid quotes and lame mind puzzles in an effort to stay at the top of the queue. (It works, more's the pity.) Anyway, I thought my email to the marketing guru was understated and respectful.
What the—!? Toastmasters?
Now, I have nothing against Toastmasters. It is a fine organization full of friendly, supportive, encouraging people. I was a member of Toastmasters when I was in college (the second of my many times around), and other than the heart-stopping moment when I forgot my speech in front of 200 people, I have fond memories and learned a lot. But Toastmasters as a cure for introversion? Really, Mr. Guru? Really?
Hah! As if introverts need a support group to help them get over a fear of speaking in public! Introverts aren't afraid of speaking in public. Introverts disdain the need for a public. A pox on your public! Hah! As if introverts are tongue-tied, stammering, red-faced idiots who faint if they are asked to try out their elevator pitch on a stranger! Hah! I'll take the stairs!
Introverts are not shy! We are simply inclined toward an internal focus. We would rather sit back and watch you extraverts make fools and lightning rods of yourselves than bully our way to centerstage to compete with you. Being alone is supremely satisfying. A good vampire romance, some Ecuadorean chocolate, and a hot bath are just icing on the cake of solitude: It's the solitude that heals and refreshes. You get my drift, Mr. Guru? I don't need you. I don't ever need you.
As an introvert, I derive satisfaction and fulfillment from developing deep connection with one person at a time. Two at the most, but preferably one. When I start a conversation with a stranger at a networking event, I want time and space to ask meaningful questions and dig deeply for genuine connection. So, what if an event was structured in such a way as to allow time and space for introverts like me to really connect with a few others, one at a time? Hmmmm. There's my idea, and if you like it, dear Reader, feel free to run with it.
I thought the event could be modeled after the speed-dating idea, but in speed dating, the configuration is a little different. Usually (and I assume this, since I've never been to a speed-dating event, or any other type of dating event, for that matter) the women don't need to interview each other; they only need to talk to the men. (Unless this is LGBTQIA speed dating. In that case, we'll need to rent an arena.) But in the boring world of hetero, arranging the prospective pairs in two long rows makes sense. The men get up when the bell rings and move down one seat, sort of like the guests did at the Mad Hatter's tea party. But at a work-related networking event, everyone needs to talk to everyone else. That suddenly complicates things in a big way.
Do you remember factorial math? I probably took it in high school and in college (all three times around), and I still I have to look it up to remember how it works. All I remember is the exclamation point! 20!/(20-2) 2! Whew! What an energetic equation! Luckily Excel can calculate it for me. If we invite 20 people to attend the networking event, and we pair them up in teams of two so they can talk while gazing intently into each other's eyes, we are looking at 190 possible combinations of partners. If everyone talks for, say, three minutes, a room full of 20 people will be there exchanging elevator pitches for 19 hours. Assuming my math is correct, or even close, I doubt if anyone would sign up for a networking event that long, no matter what the prize. And as you and I both know, there is no prize in networking.
Lest you fret, be assured introversion is not catching. (I sometimes wish it were.) When the bell rings to change partners, all the extraverts can fight for top dog out in the arena. I think I'll stay home.
