quiet-the-power-of-introverts-in-a-world-that-cant-stop-talking-susan-cain

nothing, and he’s done good works
around the world. But at the same time
I can see how hard it must be, inside
this world of Luau worship and Jumbotron
prayer, for Saddleback’s introverts
to feel good about themselves. As
the service wears on, I feel the same
sense of alienation that McHugh has described.
Events like this don’t give me
the sense of oneness others seem to enjoy;
it’s always been private occasions
that make me feel connected to the joys
and sorrows of the world, often in the
form of communion with writers and
musicians I’ll never meet in person.
Proust called these moments of unity
between writer and reader “that fruitful
miracle of a communication in the
midst of solitude.” His use of religious
language was surely no accident.
McHugh, as if reading my mind,
turns to me when the service is over.
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