Feeding My Introverted Nature — While Working an Extroverted Job

I realize now that these are just different styles of approaching ministerial work, and neither is right or wrong, good or bad. But at the time I thought there was something wrong with me. If I didn’t make myself 100% available at all times, including on breaks, I felt like I was letting my students down. I felt like I was letting God down. God had called me to this work, after all: if I couldn’t handle it, that must be because of my own selfishness or deficiency. For a few years, I tried to be someone else, someone who could be energized by interaction and activity, someone who didn’t need quite as much quiet. I even pushed writing — something that’s always been core to my identity — to the margins of my life, thinking I had to focus on more important things.

But over time I realized, with the help of friends and colleagues, that the only way to successfully do my job — any job — was to do it authentically. For me, that meant striking a balance between the outward-facing nature of my work and the quiet, solitary things that made doing that work possible.

“When I make room for what nourishes me, I’m happier, calmer, and better able to face life’s many surprises and challenges.”

It began with taking a 15-minute walk around the block whenever I felt overwhelmed. Eventually those grew into strolls down to the waterfront at lunch. On retreats I gave myself permission to disappear into my room during free time, knowing that someone would come and find me if I was needed; I always emerged refreshed, ready to give my full attention to the rest of the day. And I became intentional about setting aside protected time for writing, realizing I didn’t need any more justification than the fact that it was important to me. When I started writing frequently again, it was like rediscovering how to breathe — how had I ever fooled myself into thinking I could live without it?

These days, now that I’m much deeper into my career and have two kids, I’m even more intentional about that balance. I find those quiet, sacred moments where I can: writing on the train to and from work, or maximizing the precious hours after the kids go to bed. On the weekends, my wife and I work out alternating schedules so that we can both get the nourishment we need. It’s a tricky balancing act, but an important one. When I make room for what nourishes me, I’m happier, calmer, and better able to face life’s many surprises and challenges.

It’s also true that embracing what nourished me made me better at my job: more attentive, more caring, more able to respond to its demands with creativity and balance. That’s important, but it’s not the most important thing. Our purpose on this earth isn’t to become the best employees we can be, but the best human beings. Embracing what nourishes us allows us to be more authentically ourselves, to draw closer to the person God calls us to be.