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SOME PEOPLE ARE BORN clumsy. Tools never seem to fit their hands. Their hammer finds a thumb more often than a nail. For them, running looks and feels like an ungainly, uphill battle—even on level ground.
I don’t claim to be physically gifted. But my clumsiness shows up in a different way. I have a notable social deficiency: I’m naturally clumsy with people. Why is this important? It defined the first quarter-century of my life, including my finances.
Stumbling start. Had I been born in these days of heightened awareness, I might be fingered for testing and diagnosed with mild autism. Yes, I had friends, played grade-school sports and swarmed into class with the other students.
But my in-born emotional wall prevented true intimacy with my mates and resulted in a paralyzing anxiety that accompanied all public performances. I focused on the eyeballs in the stands, rather than the approaching pitch. A simple book report in front of familiar faces led to sleepless nights and a stuttering presentation. My personality traits hampered me from thriving during my childhood years.
Despite this, my childhood wasn’t all misery. My quietly loving parents gave me room to be different, maybe seeing a bit of themselves in their awkward son. The many hours devoted to hunting with my father were joyful, mostly because of the time we shared and the beauty of the woods and fields.
Meanwhile, seven summers with my maternal grandparents allowed an escape to a world away from people. The authentic rural landscape beckoned me on solitary walks of mental freedom, an indulgence missing from my life back home.
Though stunted by my social shortcomings, my studies were a bright spot. Good grades led to an offer to skip my senior year of high school. Instead, I enrolled in the local community college, taking a tentative step away from childhood anguish and aiming for a better adult life. I should have known I’d find more of the same, only amplified. I made it through the first year, but foundered during the second amid a fearful sea of strangers, thus halting my nascent career journey.
What followed were several years of wandering from one job to the next, initially running from people rather than toward a solid profession. Inexplicably, I drifted into a series of direct sales jobs. This shy, young man, who dreaded sitting in a doctor’s waiting room because he might be called upon to make small talk, found himself cold-calling potential customers.
Finding my feet. Needless to say, those jobs weren’t a good fit and didn’t bring much money. But I felt compelled to continue challenging myself, and profited in a way that had lasting implications: I discovered the simple mechanics of conversation. For most folks, talk is innate and automatic, but it was a mystery to me. My linguistic technique, though clunky at first, became almost fluid with repetition, as I attempted to sway customers in my direction.
How could something as simple as chitchat be so daunting? Looking back, my painful ignorance is almost a faint memory. But it was a huge hurdle at the time. Cracking the code of conversation unlocked the key to getting on with people, and prepared me for the next step in my life.
Ed Marsh during his dock- and boathouse-building days. He’s the one at the top of the ladder.
That step, at around age 25, was the beginning of an awakening for me. I joined an older friend who was restarting his business building docks and boathouses. Our partnership lasted six years. During this time, I continued to hone my skills with people, and learned to relish the sales part of the business. I’ve found few experiences match the thrill of making a sale.
Our business was small, with the labor provided by my partner, me and a handful of employees. It wasn’t cushy work. I usually finished the long day mud-bespattered, either drenched with sweat or shivering with cold, bitten by sand gnats or sliced by oyster shells. I also picked up a couple of joint injuries that still linger today. Despite it all, the hard work of crafting a hand-made product that improved the lives of clients was gratifying. And the setting, beside the water in the midst of a bustling city, was a peaceful enclave akin to the brooks and fields I frequented as a child.
My idyll was interrupted a couple of months before my 30th birthday. The approach of that milestone threw me into a reflective mood. Why was a bookworm crawling in the mud day after day, while his true talents languished? On top of that, the money wasn’t great. Suddenly, I felt I was treading water, getting older—and growing uneasy about my future.
A better beginning. In a panic, I signed up for a couple of night classes at the same community college that had witnessed my implosion a dozen years before. But instead of the social struggle that characterized my first stint at school, this second round was smooth by comparison. I won’t say my maladroitness with people had turned to mastery, but I found I was making new friends and influencing others with an ease I hadn’t known before. More important for my financial future, I was back on the path to a satisfying, stable career with a steady income.
My early 30s were a time of rebirth. I traded long hours hammering nails for longer hours cracking the books. The living was lean, but I’d learned frugality from my parents. Money was scarce when they grew up, and they set an example of diligence and thriftiness. I learned my lesson. I’ve never lacked savings, even when I’ve lacked a large income.
Something was amiss in my financial plan, however. Even though I was now on track to a better income, I hadn’t thought much beyond that first post-college paycheck.
My perspective changed while reading my first book on personal finance, a guide published by The Wall Street Journal. This volume—which Jonathan Clements says was born out of a series of articles he suggested the paper run—covered a wide array of money topics, including investing money for the future. Investing? I was an accomplished saver, but knew nothing about investing. That book lit my fire to learn, but the subject had to stay on the back burner, since I was in the throes of becoming a physical therapist.
Thinking of the finish. Nearly three decades later, I’m just a short jog from retirement, and it appears the financial war of paying for it is essentially won. But the decisive battles were fought years ago.
After a slow start, I learned that shoveling money into stock- and bond-index funds is the key to amassing wealth. Accordingly, my wife and I began pouring dollars into our workplace retirement accounts and elsewhere, and we’ve been rewarded with a steadily burgeoning portfolio.
But that investment campaign couldn’t begin until I won the battle with myself. My natural instinct is to beat a hasty retreat from people, both physically and emotionally. Only by tempering this reflex could I begin my quest for a lucrative career. Nowadays, interaction with other folks is mostly habitual, but sometimes I still need to muster the familiar mechanical techniques needed to get the conversational cogs turning.
I’m most at ease when I have a role to fill, like my job as a physical therapist. The sales skills learned years ago serve me well, as I persuade a patient to put my advice into practice. Meanwhile, I garner great satisfaction from seeing my hands-on work help patients lead a better life beyond their present injury.
On a deeper level, fostering friendships that weather the vicissitudes of life and the vagaries of human nature has proven more elusive. Nevertheless, as I ponder retirement, I find comfort in the close relationships I have in my small community and my church. Some friends are dearer than others, but in aggregate they form a web of support. My life is woven into that web.
I’m still people-clumsy at times. Extemporaneous speaking is not a strong point, though I can usually muddle through. Likewise, parties are not my preferred environment. Still, I’ve found I can usually find a kindred soul or link up with a talker who loves a listener. No, I’m not “cured” of my autistic traits. But they no longer define me.
Ed Marsh is a physical therapist who lives and works in a small community near Atlanta. He likes to spend time with his church, with his family and in his garden thinking about retirement. His favorite question to ask a young person is, “Are you saving for retirement?” Check out Ed’s earlier articles.
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Hi Ed,
Again we seem like twins. I believe I too have (undiagnosed) Asperger’s and am a retired PT. Although we differ in the fact while I am a talker my problem is not being able to focus on the other person’s non verbal communication, and it’s not unusual for my wife to point out that I may have opened my mouth and inserted my foot.
I sometimes wonder how I was able to last as long as I did in clinical work. Eventually I moved on to performing prior authorization work for a major health insurance company that better fit my analytical strengths, and my social weakness, which resulted in decreased anxiety as well as blood pressure.
Being retired now is a blessing as I can limit my social interactions, which contrary to what most retirement writings, will allow me to live a longer rather than shorter life.
BTW I think we have something in common with another HD writer David Gartland.
The communication problems resonate. I can also have problems with turning on the talk and not knowing when or where to stop. I’ve learned to wait half a beat before speaking or writing, for best results, but I sometimes forget.
As a teacher (and trainer of teachers) and a strong extrovert, I’ve had to learn to be more sensitive to and inclusive of the introverts in my classes. For example, when I try to lead a class discussion, often it’s 4-5 talkative students who participate while the others drop their eyes and hope I don’t notice them. Some educators would say I should call on them by name to get them more involved, but I feel that students with different personalities shouldn’t be forced out of their comfort zone in the classroom. At the same time, the quieter ones might have something to say but don’t feel empowered to grab the floor as some of their more extroverted classmates do. So I have to find ways to simultaneously respect students’ agency while also making space for them if they really do want to contribute but are not confident in class. Online discussion boards have been a great tool for bridging this gap, as are small group or pair activities.
Thanks for this. As an introvert I really appreciate your sensitivity and willingness to learn that we aren’t all the same nor is it necessary that we be the same. I totally agree with your feeling that students shouldn’t be forced out of their comfort zone which, I believe, is an attempt to get them to be more extroverted and just isn’t who they are. Kudos to you! I wish more teachers understood this.
DrLefty – I like your described method. I remember, back around 1973, an engineering class where the professor (full, tenured) would look at his class roster to ask someone in the class a question. Unfortunately, he never bothered to learn anyone’s name – so if he called someone out with a question and they didn’t answer, he had no way of knowing who it was.
One of the things I liked best about Laney’s book The Introvert Advantage was the chapter on the needs of introverts in teaching and learning. To raise awareness of those needs, when I was teaching I shared with my colleagues a synopsis I made of extracts from that chapter. It was much appreciated, and I became the “poster adult” for introverts at my school.
Your thoughtfulness is encouraging. My thoughts: While there’s probably not a general formula that applies to all students, a young adult that I know was helped in much the same way as I was. As a student, this person was involved in a class of about a dozen that was required to give regular oral presentations of writing, lead discussions and so on. Just like the sales calls that helped me figure out how to deal with my fears of people, the classroom interaction helped this person develop into a class leader. The traits are still very much present and challenging, but are not a roadblock to progress in life.
Ed, What a great story to share. I too started off life as an introvert, and most likely am on the end of the spectrum. Glad you found your comfort zone!
Thanks, Jeff.
Ed, thanks for a great, honest article. I had a bunch of Myers Briggs training in leadership training at work. The thing that stuck with me is that the designations are preferences. It doesn’t mean you can’t be successful on the other side of the spectrum. But it takes a lot more energy. I’m pretty much in the middle, but I struggled when Ingot involved in business development late
in my career. The “selling” part drained me. What I found worked for me was changing the sales
pitch into a conversation about the customers projects and needs. The tech talk was fun. But it took a while for me to understand that and make the change.
You’re so right, Rick. I eventually learned that having a conversation about my clients’ needs was the key to making a sale. That’s what I do now with my physical therapy patients, and I enjoy my time with them immensely. But after ten hours face to face with people, I still come home “drained.”
I really enjoyed this article. I’m on the other end of the scale – I’m social. I have a HD article currently scheduled for early September on my social connections and related activities. My wife would say that of the two of us, I’m the more social.
“Shoveling money into stock- and bond-index funds is the key to amassing wealth” That’s a quote for the ages.
Thanks, but I’m pretty sure I filched that quote–or something like it–from Jonathan Clements!
Thank you for writing this–it truly resonated with me.
I too am on the far-side of the introvert curve. I’ve often wondered about if I have a touch of autism as well. Working in laboratories for thirty years was the ideal career choice for me. The work was 90% solitary.
It can be difficult to be an introvert in (what seems like) an extroverted world. The best analogy I have is dog related. People who own ‘reactive’ dogs (dogs who don’t like other dogs) can believe something is wrong with their dog. They see the social dogs at the dog park and think they need to ‘fix’ their dog. But, by some estimates, only 40% of dogs are ‘social’ enough to go to dog parks. The rest would prefer to be alone, be with their human or perhaps play with just one or two other dogs of their choosing.
What the owners of reactive dogs don’t see are all the dogs that are like theirs–the ones who prefer to stay at home, go on a solitary walk or play in the backyard.
I live in a 55+ community where it can seem like everyone else is going to parties, involved in social clubs and spending hours chatting with friends. But when I look closer, I see a lot of people who are like me. The ones who are out at 5am taking walks or riding their bike. The ones at the library who are so involved in what they are reading they are completely unaware of everything going on around them.
Thanks for sharing your story.
Thanks for the insight into dogs. I’ve shared life with several dogs and they were all different. My current Aussie is very particular about which dogs he will play with, and most don’t pass his smell test! I’ve learned not to take him to dog parks and I avoid most dogs we pass walking. I also know he would never, ever accept another dog in “his” house. On the other hand, he never leaves my side. I”m blessed to be his human!
Thanks for reading my story and commenting, Kristine. Regarding your autism wondering, I work in an environment where autism is a common rehab diagnosis for the pediatric therapists. I don’t treat the young children, but I often recognize the condition in my patients. I never thought about my personality traits related to the condition, however, until a person close to me was diagnosed in young adulthood. I had long ago accepted my quirks, but now I understand them a little more–as differences, not deficits.
It’s interesting how our patients can enlighten us. I was having a conversation with a patient when I was in my fifties who said they were a control freak. They stated because of their anxiety they tried to control everything they could to decrease their anxiety, and a light went off inside me!
Kristine – thanks for the comments about reactive dogs. Our dog (a rescue) is reactive (as in hates) all dogs on the planet except for the neighbor’s dog on the other side of the fence. I can no longer walk her because we invariably encounter other dogs. I had to stop when she pulled me over in an attempt to accost another dog on a walk. We have a large back yard where she gets exercise by keeping us safe from squirrels, rabbits, birds, and the rare deer – – – so that’s her universe. We use a mobile vet to prevent the trauma of visiting an office.
Conversely, she is super happy and excited when people visit, and generally calms down in a few minutes if our guests honor our suggestion to ignore her for a while.
Our dearly departed Lab was exactly like this. She was a big dog—topped out at 70-75 pounds, tall, strong, and athletic. I had to stop walking her because I’m not big and strong, and she would get too worked up if another dog got in her space, and I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to control her. I remember frequently crossing streets to avoid coming face to face with another dog and its owner. Finally, after taking a bad fall while walking her, I had to put up the white flag.
I remember the judgey comments of other dog owners, too. Maybe their dog would come bounding right up to mine, and she’d growl and bark angrily. The owner would look offended and say “He just wanted to say hi!”
She loved her people, though.
DrLefty – our dog is extremely dedicated to my wife and me, and that’s probably the source of her anxiety/aggression – I think she goes into protection mode, regardless of the situation. When I was still walking her, crossing the street didn’t help. All Liza needs is to see another dog and she goes feral/ballistic.
Thanks for the article. I emphasize! I spent very little time around other children until I went to school at five, where I never really fit in, and I still find socializing and public speaking difficult. Fortunately I found a career as a techie a good fit.
It took me some time, but all the years I was “in the wilderness “ prepared me for my present career.
Good article. I’m struck by how your story is reminiscent of others on this site who basically educated themselves (one way or another) and reinvented themselves. It’s inspiring and heartwarming. Your story (and others like it) would be of particular benefit to younger readers to help show them what’s possible. Thanks for sharing.
Thanks! I wrote it hoping to strike a chord with a few folks that might benefit from knowing they’re not alone.
Ed, thanks for sharing so much of yourself in this article. As a fellow introvert who enjoys (too much, my family might say) a heavy dose of solitude, I can relate.
I’ve found that introversion has some interesting aspects, and has different forms for different people. I have no problem speaking to a large group, but having to engage in idle chit chat at a gathering causes me stress. Thankfully, my wife, a true extrovert who never met a stranger, usually saves me at those times.
My husband is a talented musician who leads worship at our church. He’s also done a lot of public speaking. But he’s exactly like you with the “idle chit chat at a gathering.” I’ve learned to be sensitive to his cues that he’s had enough because I’m like your wife and could hang out a lot longer than he ever wants to.
We know how to pick ‘em, Andrew. My wife often greases the social wheels for me.
I can speak to groups as long as it’s a topic I’m interested in–dog training for one.
Idle chit chat is the worst for me. I can’t stand it. I only get my hair cut once or twice a year because going to a hairdresser is one of the most stressful events in my life.
That’s so funny. I’ve been seeing the same hairstylist since 2005, and we’ve become friends. I always say my hair appointments double as therapy sessions—for both of us! She’s a few years older than I am, and I live in terror that she’s going to retire and move to Arizona to be near her daughters. Not only do I enjoy her personally, but she’s also really, really good with my hair.
Thank you so much for this, Ed. I’m an introvert on the far end of the introversion-extroversion continuum. Many of the personal and financial scenes you described resonated with me and echoed my experiences.
People often think that one type of person (typically, the more visible or audible) is normal and the other is abnormal. No. They’re just different. It is so important for people to understand that.
Amen! As another person on the far end of the introversion scale, I couldn’t agree more.
When I hear about how important it is to stay social as you age, I wonder if the studies were conducted by extroverts.
Maybe by Americans. Back when Myers-Briggs was fashionable I read that the US is majority extrovert while the UK is majority introvert.
This year my library kindly lent me the audio book “Quiet” by Susan Cain. It fueled a new appreciation of introverts!
Cain’s 2012 TED talk is still available. For a book, though, I recommend Marti Olsen Laney’s The Introvert Advantage. It spoke more directly to me.
Thanks!
Some people take a little more work to get to know, but the effort is often worth it. Thanks for reading.
Beautifully written, Ed. You found a way to relate to others and conquer your innate tendencies. I think Being the kind soul you are had a lot to do with the man you’ve become. Along the way you also developed a wonderful writing style.
sometimes I’ll read an article and think to myself—I don’t believe a word this guy is saying— It all may sound good but the words are hollow. Yours ring of sincerity.
Thank you for your kind words, Marjorie.
I enjoyed the way you wove your personal story into your financial story, well done, thanks.
Thank you, Max!
Ed, for the great majority of people, this para says it all. No need to get complicated or sophisticated with money, just do this and never stop.
”After a slow start, I learned that shoveling money into stock- and bond-index funds is the key to amassing wealth. Accordingly, my wife and I began pouring dollars into our workplace retirement accounts and elsewhere, and we’ve been rewarded with a steadily burgeoning portfolio.”
Yes, simple is best!