“THERE
WAS ONCE A VELVETEEN RABBIT, AND IN THE BEGINNING HE WAS REALLY
SPLENDID."
There
is a classic children’s book called THE
VELVETEEN RABBIT that beautifully describes the
rich inner world of introverted children. The velveteen rabbit
wants to become real but he doesn’t know how. Finally
he learns the secret from the Skin Horse, the wisest toy in
the playroom. “[Real],” says the old Skin Horse,
“is a thing that happens to you, When a child loves you
for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves
you, then you become Real.”
For many this is a sentimental story about a childhood fantasy
or the fantasies of childhood. One reviewer even describes
it as a book “for any child who has ever thought that
maybe his toys have feelings”.
This interpretation is a bit off because it misses the point
about introverted children. To an introvert, it is not a question
of whether toys have feelings. The story depicts a reality
where the child’s feelings infuse the toy with life.
We know because of this that the child is most assuredly an
introvert.
Relating to objects and people is an inner, subjective experience
for an introvert. It is as though they bring an object into
their inner world in order to relate to it. Since introverts
give energy when they relate (extroverts take energy), there
is an infusing quality to the attention or focus of an introvert
which is an “active” quality in relating. In other
words, introverts can infuse someone or something with love
whether or not it is alive -- or reciprocated.
I once had a friend with whom I fell deeply in love. His feelings
were not the same and so he told me it was not possible that
this feeling I had was love. In order for it to be love, he
said, it had to be mutual. To me, that was the most absurd
thing I’d ever heard and I continued to love him for
a very long time. It made no difference whatsoever that he
did not love me back. He existed as something inside myself
and I did not need to possess his physical body or even to
ever see him again, since this was his wish, for this to be
complete experience. I know this is impossible for an extrovert
to believe.
A gifted introvert with an excellent understanding of this
phenomenon is Hans Christian Andersen. Andersen has described
the basic qualities of introverts very well in many of his
tales, the most familiar of which is THE
UGLY DUCKLING. Two other fairy tales that express
the quintessential qualities of introverts are The Red
Shoes and The Little Mermaid.
Please separate in your mind for a moment, the Andersen and
Disney versions of The Little Mermaid. Disney movies
get at the truth in fairy tales about the same way Whoopi
Goldberg gets at your typical homeless experience.
THE
RED SHOES is in the public domain now and can
be viewed on the internet. The Red Shoes was one of
my favorite stories as a child and I was later fascinated
with the movie starring Moira Shearer. It is a morality tale
on the surface but underneath it is a story of passionate
obsession. The ability to become obsessed is a characteristic
of most introverts. It is closely associated with our exalted
powers of concentration and ability to focus.
Warren Buffet, the world’s best investor, is an introvert.
If you read many of his statements about investing, you will
discover that much of his success is based on his ability
to refrain from taking action such as frequent buying and
selling of stocks. It is his intensity which keeps him focused
in spite of distractions. Buffet also has the typical introvert’s
ability to “stand alone against the crowd”.
THE
LITTLE MERMAID, in its original version, is tale
of unrequited love that is almost too painful to read. Andersen
describes the anguish of worshipping from a distance that
is all too familiar for introverts, who suffer in the extreme
at a disadvantage because the depth of their feelings finds
no avenue to the outer world.
According
to the Myers-Briggs® Type Indicator and the Keirsey Temperament
Sorter II, there are 8 different types of introverts. Hans
Christian Andersen was an infp introvert, which Keirsey calls
the Healer. Keirsey describes the infp introvert this way:
“Healers live a fantasy filled childhood, which, unfortunately,
is discouraged or even punished by many parents. These individuals
are capable of an exalted kind of love which transcends the
ability of most others to understand…. Wishing to please
their parents and siblings, but not knowing quite how to do
it, they try to hide their differences, believing they are
bad to be so fanciful, so unlike their more solid brothers
and sisters…. They are swans reared in a family of ducks.”
Learn more at the KEIRSEY
SITE.
Once I was teaching a class and asked my students about their
relationships. When his turn came, a quiet man in the front
row said he was currently separated from his girlfriend but
he spoke of his great love for her and mentioned her beautiful
qualities. I asked when he had last seen her. “Ten years
ago,” he replied. Everyone burst out laughing (I’m
sorry to say). These extroverts would put it this way: If
you can’t be with the one you love then love the one
you’re with.
Dante Alighieri, the Italian poet of the Middle Ages, first
saw his immortal beloved, Beatrice, when he was 9 years old.
She died when he was 25 and their love was never consummated.
After marriage and family, at 37 years of age, Dante was exiled
and began to write The Divine ComedY, a masterpiece
in which Beatrice represented his soul and inspiration.
I try to explain to my extroverted friends and clients, it
is not necessary to possess a physical body to love someone,
any more than it was necessary for the velveteen rabbit to
be real to be loved.
A
client of mine loved his grandmother dearly. When she died,
he could have had any of her possessions but he took only
the quilt from her bed. He used it for picnics, to watch tv,
for the dog to lie on and for extra warmth in the winter.
It began to wear and he was happy because he was loving it
real.
An introverted client and very dear friend, Margaret, lived
near the woods in New Hampshire as a child. She spoke to the
woodland creatures that came into her yard with great delight.
One day her older brother decided to play a trick on her.
He got the neighbor next door to take a squirrel tail and
run it up the side of a tree while talking to Margaret the
whole time as if it were the squirrel. Margaret was enchanted.
She fell for it, hook, line and sinker.
Later her brother broke the news. Margaret’s reaction?
It didn’t make any difference to her if the squirrel
was real or not. It still talked to her!
One of the greatest gifts you can give your introverted child
is to cherish this ability he or she has to love something
real.
If you liked this article, read about Beatrix Potter, creator of "Peter Rabbit". She has the quintessential infp personality. The article requires some understanding of astrology.
Order this poster by Donna Green
WHAT NANCY'S READERS HAVE SAID:
9.08.2006 It's so lovely......Make me feel deeply.....in love....
~ Bee, Thailand
8.11.2006 Finally, after 56 years of living as a "stranger" on this planet, I read an article that touches the soul of who I am. Thankyou so much.
4.5.2007 Wonderful response from a reader - be sure to read all the way to the end
Being an INFP is hard. Especially so if you’re a guy……and the only INFP among your friends. But you guys face it every day. Gals too.
Anyway, what sparked my interest in leaving this comment was what a post above mine had said about seeing their toys as being alive. I was the same way as a child, and was a somewhat influenced by the movie “Toy Story”. I mean, I knew my toys weren’t real, even at the youngest of ages. But with the joys of make-believe, it didn’t really matter. As far as I CARED, they could easily have been alive.
However, despite such a knowledge, I took my playime to the extreme. You see, I had a very odd imagnination as a child, and an eccentric obsessiveness that continues to this day. I am about to impart to you a recounting of how utterly bizarre my playtime was, up until the age of about 12. Yes. Twelve years old. Here’s how it goes, to all you who want to subject yourselves to what follows:
Beginning around my pre-school years, I developed a keen interest in Jurassic
Park, and I ended up with countless toy dinosaurs. (Jurassic Park was released in 1993, when I was four) By kindergarten, with the coming of Jurassic Park II, my interest expanded to include not only the dinos, but also the cast of the movie, conveniently animated in a series of 4-inch moveable figurines.
I collected all of them, and named them after their characters. By the time I was about seven, I had Dr. Grant, Robert Muldoon, Dieter Stark (I mis-read the package lable as saying “Denter Stark”, and called him such), Eddie Carr, Ian Malcom, Nick Van Valen and a few others whose names have slipped my mind.
I also accumluated a cast of Star Wars figurines, and combined with my Jurassic
Park collection, I had about 30 little toys. In addition to this, I also had about 50 or more toy dinosaurs.
This large collection of action figures and dinosaurs would have been enough for any kid’s playtime. But, with this much wealth, mere playtime was not a satisfying option for my ambitious vision. Sometime around my kindergarten years, I decided that I was a filmmaker, and my toys were my cast. And each time I played with these toys, I was actually making a movie.
I told my parents and little brother this whenever I would go tromping through the house making a great disturbance, limited not only to scattered toys, but to special effects (ie, red Crayola markers for blood), sound effects (dinosaur sounds, as well as gunshots), and my own musical score (sputtered out through my lips during dramatic scenes). Much to the exaspiration of my brother, my “movies” had to be realistic, and come to a film-worthy conclusion whenever we stopped playing. I was a little dictator, and would yell at my brother for making his action figure fly or jump improbable distances, since it would be laughable to audiences.
I would also get mad at my brother for being too conventional with his choice of protagonists; it was always the same toy that saved the day. I, on the other hand, would occasionally allow one of my less-favorite toys be the hero from time to time, just to shake things up. And to avoid hurting the feelings of my toys, whom I would often take to bed and to school.
My eccentricity reached a climax around age 9, when I had fully instated my own film-making company, McAtee Studios. McAtee is my surname, and I named my film company after myself. The studio headquarters were located in my bedroom, where my toys “lived”.
McAtee Studios was also somewhat of a self-contained community (much like Hollywood), although I envisioned it as being an independent nation, with its own president. I appointed my oldest Dr. Grant action figure(modelled after Sam Neil, for all those unfamiliar with Jurassic Park’s cast) as the president of McAtee Studios, a sort of “toybox patriarch”, since he was my oldest toy.
In addition to having a president, McAtee Studios also had a long, written history. And yes, I did write it down. Just for starters, it was founded in 1898. And for seconds, I wrote biographies for most of my action figures. And yes, those were written down as well and still exist to this day, mixed together with my old school work. In addition to having my own film studios/government for my toys, I imagined that this was much the same across the world. At least, as far as the toys were concerned.
My line of thinking, largely influenced by the movie ‘Toy Story”, led me to believe that all the toys of every child on earth were alive, and that each kid’s toys had their own communities. Of course, I saw mine as the best of them all.
And I was very proud of my toys. I took them eveywhere. This included safaris and outdoor film shoots all over my family’s 135 acre farm. I also took them swimming in our pool, jumping on the trampoline, and to Grandma and Papaw’s house, to play with my cousins. I would also stow them into my luggage on vacations. And they always returned safe and sound. I never lost one.
Entering my tween years brought a gradual end to my odd childhood bliss. And I saw it coming. In fourth grade, I went through a depression where I would cry and think about death almost every day. I was worried about the Apocalypse happening and about losing my parents and grandparents. And I was afraid of growing up and losing my childhood.
Still, being young beough to play with my action figures and dinosaurs comforted me, but I realized that most of my friends didn’t play with their toys as much as I did. And by age twelve, I had pretty much given up my days of action-figure adventures. I had an acute self-awareness at the time, and it saddened me to see my childhood slipping away month by month.
Today, the aforementioned part of my childhood is long gone. But the memories remain. I am so fond of those times. I don’t share my childhood eccentricies with many people, but they are so precious to me now. I look back, and just crave for those endless summer days and evenings, swimming, exploring the woods, or playing at grandma’s.
The toys were not what made those memories. Not at all, really. But they are a symbol of the stuff I used to do as a kid. They were a part of me and of my memories. I still have all of them. Every last one, boxed up in my basement, awaiting the next generation of my family….and they’ll be around until then.
A lot of my childhood writings and pictures still exist. They are a reliable source of nostalgia when I’m alone sifting through old papers. And a good source of embarassment when there are others around who wonder why I wrote three-page biographies on my toys. Childhood can be a wonderful time for the INFP.
~17 year old Justin kayakmac08@hotmail.com
