Verified by 
I recently posted about getting myself to do things I don’t want to, specifically in regard to political block walking. That is, walking around a neighborhood, knocking on strangers’ doors, and talking politics with them. Research has found that this is by far the most effective way to get people to the polls. It also is completely antithetical to this introvert’s nature.
(Believe it or not, some people actually enjoy block walking. I know ... I have a hard time wrapping my mind around that, too.)
Because I know how important block walking is, I used the strategies in that earlier post to make myself do it. I’ve done it three times now (a pathetic number compared to the hustle of my cohorts), and will probably do it again.
I’m not bad at block walking. I hate knocking on doors, but once the conversation starts, I’m fine. These conversations often become substantive, the way introverts like them. (And, by the way, we only knock on doors of people whose politics align with ours, so I have never had to seriously debate issues.)
Nothing bad has happened to me while block walking. And when it goes well, it is satisfying. I’ve had some heartwarming experiences, interesting conversations, encounters with different kinds of people.
I still don’t like doing it. And that bums me out, since I know it matters.
And I’ve been wondering: What am I so afraid of?
And I’ve also been wondering: Am I afraid? Or do I genuinely just not like it? And how do I tell the difference?
I’m not a generally fearful person, but my reluctance to sign up for block walking feels like fear. And when I do sign up, the anxiety with which I anticipate it feels like fear.
So what is this about? Is it fear or loathing?
Psychologist Ellen Hendriksen, who wrote the excellent book, How to Be Yourself: Quiet Your Inner Critic and Rise Above Social Anxiety seemed like a good person to ask.
“My philosophy comes from a friend who is reluctant runner,” she responded in an email. “She puts it this way: ‘I don’t like running, but I love having gone for a run.’
“In other words, explore your past experiences for information. Specifically, once you’re out there, do you enjoy block walking? When it’s over, are you glad you went?
“If you have previously enjoyed block walking, nudge yourself to keep doing it. On, the other hand, if you don’t like it and are slogging through with all the enthusiasm of eating your vegetables,* I think it’s totally acceptable to stop.
“Another way to tell if it’s fear or loathing is whether it gets easier with practice or not. Activities you fear will get easier and less loathsome as you practice. But activities you loathe will stay loathsome for all time.”
OK, good information to chew on.
When I’m done block walking, am I glad I went? Mostly I feel less guilty. Which might be the neurotic’s way of feeling glad, but I’m not sure it’s reward enough to change my mind about block walking.
I suppose I’ll have to practice a few more times to ascertain whether it will get easier and more likable. I've already learned that doing with a friend is less awful than doing it alone. And I assume it will be even less awful when the temperature here drops below 100 degrees.
But OK—suppose after more practice I ascertain that I really do loathe block walking. What then? Am I a failure as an activist?
Here’s where all the lessons I’ve learned about introversion come into play.
How many times have I and other introversion advocates (read Jennifer Kahnweiler's The Genius of Opposites: How Introverts and Extroverts Achieve Extraordinary Results Together) spouted off about using our personal introverted strengths to contribute to the world? These lessons are sometimes easier to preach than to live. To live them, you have to give yourself permission to be yourself.
I enjoy working behind the scenes organizing events, such as panel discussions and a town hall I’m planning for a candidate . I’ve learned not to be afraid to ask people for things. I like thinking up different, individual ways people might enjoy contributing. I like coming up with activities, making lists and checking things off them, and bringing people together. I like playing hostess more than being a guest, since hostessing/organizing gives me something to do other than chitchat. And if an event goes well, people will learn something, or money will be raised, or connections will be forged. Or all three. All good.
All this is rife with anxiety (what if nobody shows up? what if things go wrong? what if a bare-knuckle fist fight breaks out?), but it’s an anxiety that feels energizing, unlike the anxiety I feel prior to a block walk.
Event planning doesn’t sound as noble as block walking, and maybe it isn’t. I don’t know. All I know is that the only way I can contribute to the world without undue suffering is to respect my own feelings and follow them to where I can succeed (I hope) with joy.
What do you hate doing? Can you think of an alternative that will allow you to succeed with joy?
*no offense to vegetables
