A few months ago, I read a piece over at Lemondrop on IRL Syndrome, and immediately diagnosed myself as a victim of the disability.
As I read through the piece, I nodded with dawning recognition at passages like these:
“When I email a gal, I’m imbued with all these crazy powers. Confidence! Wit! Charm! On my Powerbook or my iPhone, I’m George Clooney at a cocktail party. On a date, without my assorted Apple products, I become … the Mac guy.”
I knew of what he wrote. Because, you see, I’m better in writing, too.
It makes the prospect of building my professional network somewhat daunting. And while being an introvert doesn’t necessarily have to be a liability (as I’m coming to learn from reading books like Networking for People Who Hate Networking), social interactions don’t only drain me of energy. They also terrify me. Which means I have to ease myself in slowly.
