The first time I met Michael, I thought he hated me.
We swiped each other on Tinder, I told him I liked his dimples, and after a few days of nonstop witty texting, we met for drinks at a hipster hangout in the East Village. The text game and sexual attraction were strong across the airwaves.
We had a few drinks. I did all the talking. I don’t think he said more than a few words during the whole evening. I carried the conversation; regaling him with stories of wild nights out.
I walked away from that date and thought: Wow, that guy definitely thinks I’m the worst.
But the next day he texted me that he’d had an amazing time and wanted to take me out again. I was befuddled. How could he possibly have thought that was a good date? Had he never been on a date before?
I agreed to a second date out of pure curiosity (and horniness). All my previous boyfriends were life-of-the-party-guys—men who fed off my energy and swept me up in tumultuous emotions. This was…the opposite.
I realized he wasn’t quiet because he wasn’t feeling my vibe; he was quiet because he was a listener who genuinely enjoyed soaking up everything I said. Michael was an introvert.
Almost three years later, I’m pretty confident I’m going to marry the guy. Which is why, as a now-expert on the subject, this is my advice to all other extroverts looking to date an introvert.