Quiet People Can Be Leaders Too

(What follows is a reflection of participating in Leadership Daytona 2022. Despite the beginning of this piece sounding like I was ungrateful for the opportunity, reserve your judgement until you finish reading, please.)

Only 30 people would be accepted into this year’s Leadership Daytona program (out of who knows how many applicants). According to the program’s website description, those accepted would “serve our community through active involvement resulting in positive contributions to the greater Volusia County area.” This was to be accomplished through three months of weekly four-hour meetings at various locations. The 30 individuals accepted into the program would meet with prominent community individuals from well-known businesses to receive “continuing education in leadership development and community awareness.”

When my supervisor first asked me what I thought about applying, my initial reaction (which I did not voice out loud) was, “No way!” ‘Leadership’ was never a word I planned on using to describe myself or making any kind of efforts to get closer to. Maybe it’s because my stressful childhood years conditioned me to be quiet, but I have become quite comfortable being in the background and going unnoticed.

However, multiple people at work and in my family encouraged me to embrace the opportunity. So, after spending a few hours one Friday morning assembling my application, I hit the Send button and hoped for the best. What was meant to be would be, right?

The following week, I received an email that I had been accepted. Yay, I guess? I was hopeful and starting to get used to the idea of what this experience would nurture in me, but I still had those butterflies.

Just in case you’re reading this and wondering what I was so afraid of, let me help put it into perspective:

Quiet, reserved 30-something who struggles with anxiety and constant self-doubt is plunged into a big ocean with 29 strangers for a program operated by the Daytona Beach Regional Chamber of Commerce.

These types of programs were made for people who are outgoing, natural connectors. People who love meeting other new people. People who aren’t crippled with sharp headaches when put on the spot for extended periods of time. People who can enter a room without first locating the closest Exit.

The first day of Leadership was a packed two hours spent getting to know our cohorts and reviewing the agenda for the next 12 weeks. Either my face betrayed me or the program’s director had great intuition, because she made sure to seat me at the front of the room as often as she could. I felt like a 4-year-old, wanting to dig my heels into the ground as I was pushed to the front and center.

Looking around the room that first day, I saw that I had a great opportunity to get to spend time with quite a few of the people I had known only through my work email. I could finally put names to the faces of people who worked for my company’s sponsors or community partners. The trepidation began to dissipate.

Unfortunately, that confidence would take a dip the next day when it was pointed out to me twice (in what I thought were not-so-nice ways) that I was clearly “the quiet one” in the group. Don’t get me wrong, I’m used to taking jabs about my quietness, but in a leadership program, being quiet isn’t exactly the best quality.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve never met a quiet leader. Leadership makes me think: loud, sure of self, outspoken, and not afraid to speak up.

None of those descriptors fit me; little old quiet me. And now it seemed the quietness that had helped me survive my childhood was coming back to bite me in the backside. I panicked. I drove home at the end of that day in tears. Why was I chosen for Leadership Daytona? I didn’t fit in there.

When I got home, my aunt (who lives across the street) happened to be outside at the same time. She had remembered it was my first day of Leadership and came across the street to meet me. After seeing my expression full of defeat and doubt, she spent the next 25 minutes giving me a good, strong pep talk, reminding me that I was chosen for this opportunity for a reason and because the ‘higher ups’ at work felt I was a good fit for the program.

Long story short, I stuck it out. And I’m glad I did because it did get a lot better. At the beginning of each session, I walked in with hope and mentally pushed my doubts aside. I concentrated on taking notes of where I could put to use what I was learning and I always tried to have a question for whoever the day’s speaker was. I met a lot of well-known businesses and individuals, had access to opportunities I wouldn’t have had otherwise, and came away stronger at the end of each session.

In fact, I think my favorite day was ‘Advocacy Day,’ which entailed all of us meeting at Daytona’s City Hall to hear from local city officials and Florida Senator Tom Wright. He only had a short time to speak, and he spent most of it talking about his accomplishments. It was clear he was quite involved with ‘youth,’ but not with children birth – five years old. As someone who works for an early learning nonprofit, this irked me. (Let me just say one thing before I get off my soapbox: there is not enough emphasis put on the importance of investing in quality early learning programs. If you want to learn more, let’s talk!)

When Senator Wright asked if anyone had any questions, I shocked even myself when I felt my hand raise. Obviously I thanked him for the funds he’d allocated to the various youth programs, but then I asked what his plans were for our youngest citizens, noting that I worked for the Early Learning Coalition. His first answer was, “How much money do you need?”

As it turns out, he was already familiar with my company’s work, but having another bug put in his ear was what he needed to encourage me to file an Appropriations Act and contact his office to set up a meeting. (I did follow up with his office a few days later and since then, my company has actively been formulating a plan of action.)

When the 12 weeks came to an end, I was stuffed with new information and ready for our graduation. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to attend the graduation. It had to be postponed because of Hurricane Ian and the new date was scheduled for when I’d be in Vermont celebrating my grampa’s 90th birthday (which I wouldn’t have changed for the world). A week after I got home from Vermont, I ran into someone I had been in Leadership with.

He said, “Has anyone gotten in touch with you?”

I said, “About what?”

“The superlatives… you won one of them but I can’t remember which.”

My heart lurched as I remembered the categories we had all been asked to nominate someone for before our graduation.

Most Likely to Brighten Up Your Day

Most Likely to Be Leader of the Pack

Most Likely to Talk Your Ear Off (though Remain Interesting)

Most Likely to Be the Life of the Party

Most Likely to Quietly Take Over the World

I quickly sent an email to another cohort who would know the results. Thinking back to the day I was filling out my nominations, I remember thinking how funny it would be if I ended up winning Most Likely to Quietly Take Over the World.

At the end of the day, I took a quick peek at my email. My cohort had written back – to confirm my hunch that I had won Most Likely to Quietly Take Over the World.

At first, the only thing I could concentrate on was the fact that all 29 of my cohorts recognized me as “the quiet one” – was that a good thing or a bad thing? I practically had to smack myself upside the head as I realized, Duh! This is a good thing!

My cohorts thought I had what it took to take over the world. Or… you know… at least make significant moves in the community. And that was something to be proud of.

It also hit me that even though I had spent the duration of the program soaking up everything I could and trying to get to know my cohorts, I had wasted a lot of mental energy trying to prove to everyone else that I was in the right place even if I was the quiet one. Even if I didn’t believe it myself.

In the end, I learned I was the only one who had ever had any doubts about my leadership capabilities. I know that sounds cheesy, but it’s true.

It’s like the ending in The Wizard of Oz when Glinda says to Dorothy, “You’ve always had the power, my dear…”

The Scarecrow says, “Then why didn’t you tell her before?”

“Because she wouldn’t have believed me. She had to learn it for herself.”

Quiet, For a Reason

–         You’re so quiet, you need to come out of your shell!

–         I wish we heard you talk more, you’re so quiet!

–         It’s okay, I know you’re just shy. You’ll open up soon!

“Come out of your shell, come out of your shell, come out of your shell!” I swear if I hear that phrase one more time…

Do they think I don’t know I’m quiet or something?

Sigh. Although I’m used to hearing these kinds of comments, there are some occasions where it’s more irritating than usual. a few weeks ago was the most recent incident. Coincidentally, it happened right before the topic for our next Toastmasters meeting was going to be “good intentions.” I spent an entire week ruminating on that comment, wondering if I should’ve responded instead of politely smiling, then leaving.

My name is Serena Piper and I’m a quiet person.

Ever since I can remember, that’s how people have known my personality. But I didn’t used to be this way and now I know there is reason for it.

To share something deeply personal with you… I began therapy almost two months ago. The number of things I have been learning about myself is astounding. I’ve actually had to start keeping a notebook to remember everything.

One of my latest epiphanies was about my quietness. It was brought to my attention that because I grew up in such a loud, chaotic, unsafe, and often neglectful home where I was not heard when I needed, or even wanted, to be… that eventually I just. Shut. down. I stopped asking for what I needed. My words were being heard… but nothing was being done. And I was too young to understand that there were other words I could use. Other people I could ask for help. That people would have helped me.

As a result, I am now 31 years old and I have spent most of my life as a quiet person. It doesn’t bother me… but it’s interesting to me and may be worthwhile to share with others that this didn’t used to be my personality. Traumatic events in our lives change us. Sculpt us.

Between the ages of 8 and 18 years old, almost every single report card I ever received had some type of comment from the teacher that said, “Quiet, a pleasure to have in class” or “Pleasure to have in class. Needs to speak up more.”

There is one moment that sticks out in my mind. Sitting in the front row of my 7^th grade English class, hearing Mr. Brown call me “catatonic.” Out loud. In front of the entire class. He mimicked my demeanor just in case his point wasn’t clear enough. I was humiliated. Although I was just 13, I was a voracious reader, so I knew what the word meant. I went home and cried to my mom. She promptly served him hell the next day. Politely, of course.

Learning WHAT made me quiet and reserved has helped me in not only understanding myself and WHY I am the way that I am, it has helped me in understanding the children I have worked with over the years, and even some adults. Because sometimes it isn’t just a person’s personality and “the way they are.” There may be something deeper going on at home, inside their heart.

I’m 31 years old and I have learned only recently that I can ASK for what I need. I don’t need to be quiet anymore. And I am still putting that into practice. Who knows, maybe I should make that into a nametag that I wear when I’m around other people, since apparently being quiet is a social defect these days.

I recently read a meme online that said, “People always tell introverts to be more talkative and leave their comfort zones. Yet, no one tells extroverts to shut up and make the zone comfortable.”

So, let me just offer you this bit of advice: unless it is a positive comment on someone’s personality –  “You really brought a great level of enthusiasm to that presentation at work,” or “I really appreciate your sense of humor,” commenting on someone’s personality is not okay. To borrow what my own very wise mom said to sum it up, “It’s usually perceived as criticism.”

I hope my readers will consider the reason behind someone’s personality before immediately dismissing it as something to be overcome. Because you might not see all the progress someone has made or the efforts they are making to overcome it on their own already. You don’t see the behind the scenes.

My name is Serena Piper, and I’m a quiet person.  

A Malibu of Memories

I have had the same white Chevy Malibu since 2011. I turned 21 that year. In the time since my move to Florida, which passed two years last September, I have driven to work or errands and stared at other cars, admiring open-top Jeeps or shiny Civics and wondered what it would be like to have a newer car. It’s not like the Malibu is falling apart, but it’s got 214K miles on it, the brakes creak when I step on them, and when all of my coworkers are upgrading, it’s kind of hard not to dream.

But then I realized that my car has held some of my favorite people in it. My gram, for one.

My last solo visit up to Washington, she and I used the Malibu to make the 40 minute drive from her country house to Spokane where she had appointments with her oncologist. We would also stop at the grocery store for her to stock up on the junky food she was finally allowed to indulge in because she needed to put on the weight. In between these little errands, she would smoke, flicking its ashes in my car’s ash tray. It wasn’t until I returned home after that visit that I was cleaning out my car, remembered to open up the ash tray, and saw it stuffed with her lipstick-tipped white cigarettes and ash. Sighing, I slid the tray out and dumped its contents into the trash. I would be lying if I said I didn’t peek in that tray recently to see if there was an ashy reminder that she’d been there. While the memories I have of Gram in the Malibu aren’t really “fun” ones, they’re her.

The second person I have memories of is Charlie. Charlie died a year ago. He and I attended high school together but it wasn’t until after we had both graduated that he reached out to me to connect. Oddly enough while I was visiting Gram. When we hung out, my sides hurt from laughing so much. We would visit comedy shows, see movies, eat dinner out at unusual places neither of us had been to or heard of before, take road trips, cuddle, stuff ourselves with sushi for lunch, and sit in my car talking long after I needed to get home (I lived an hour away). In my car is where a lot of our deep talks took place and where he would share his struggles with life, his poetry, his hopes, his motivation. As he talked, he would hold onto the beaded string of the word “faith” that hangs from my car mirror.

So now, every time I think of wanting a new car and how many cool gadgets I would gain with it, I remind myself of what I would be losing. There’s a Catch-22 for ya.

For now I’ll just hope that I don’t have to be the one to make the decision and that the car does it for me.

Thoughts On Depression

As I was going through unfinished writings, I found this from a couple years ago. Parts of it still hold true, but I know things must be changing when most of it isn’t true for me anymore.

If depression teaches you anything, it’s how to become a good liar. Even if you’ve never lied before in your life, you’ll start. “I’m fine,” will spout out of your mouth quicker than 1, 2, 3, whenever someone asks, “How are you?” And the sad thing is, people will believe it because many don’t know what depression looks like on the outside. Someone with depression doesn’t look depressed.

It’s because we’ve all become liars, just like I said before. We should probably even audition for plays because we’re such naturals. We know how to fool someone with a quick smile. How to crinkle our eyes just enough so it looks like we’re genuinely happy. How to tweak that upbeat, perky tone in our voice just so. When you think about it, it’s almost like a game these days. How many of us are really happy… and how many of us are merely pretending?

Of all the obstacles I’ve had to face thus far, depression is by far number one. Then again, I think everyone with depression feels that way.

This afternoon, I went to work excited not only to see the kiddos after two weeks of winter vacation, but because it meant several hours of not focusing on anything except making sure the kids had a good time while in my care. It’s always been one of the best parts of my jobs working with kids: they take up all my attention, in a good way. Perhaps it’s one of the reasons I started seeking out jobs working with them. Kids just make everything okay. And for a person with clinical depression, they’re a godsend.

Unfortunately, it means the minute I leave work each evening, I’m back to where I started. It gets darker earlier now, only adding to the darkness in my mind. Self sabotage attacks the minute I get into my car and head home. Thinking about what I’ll do when I’m not at work where I have the perfect distraction. On the one hand, I’m grateful to head home where I can crawl into bed and under the safety of my blankets… on the other, the arrival of evening means a new day will start after I wake up. If I get any sleep to wake up from, that is.

It turns out, there is no “rock bottom” with depression because even rock bottom has a rock bottom. Just when you think you can draw strength from the rare “I can get through this” moments, those low points get even lower. One step forward, five steps back. I used to worry the “life will never get better” kind of thinking was dramatic, maybe something a 10-year-old would say when they didn’t get to stay the night at a friend’s house because they didn’t finish their chores on time. Now it’s a daily way of life that never goes away permanently. I wake up, tired already, and face the incoming negative thoughts:

“Your day probably won’t be that great”
“Don’t count on anything”
“Are you sure you even want to attempt getting out of bed?”

Instantly my mind is exhausted just thinking about having to mentally pull out its swords to fight them.

I can’t count the number of times I’ve thought to myself, It’s not fair that I’m dealing with this. On the outside, I have everything going for me: great friends, steady and rewarding jobs, parents who are there for me. One might ask the stereotypical question, “What do you have to be depressed about?” I’ve even asked myself that before.

There are probably at least a million other people in the world dealing with something even worse: a death in the immediate family, cancer, homelessness. Shouldn’t I just be able to remember that and perk up immediately, thankful “it’s not worse”? And yet while my depression stems from an understandable trauma and I realize I can’t reasonably compare myself to anyone else in any way, I still expect more from myself. If I can be an inspiration to the children I work with, why can’t I be the same for myself?

I have and always will be envious of those around me who have it worse, yet still find hope in each sunrise because it means they have another day to live. For me, it’s another day to simply survive. A normal person, I think to myself, can enjoy their good moments; get a high from them that lasts a whole week. My happiness lasts a few hours at most.

“Enjoy it while it lasts” has taken on a new meaning for me.

These Are A Few (6) Of My Favorite Smells

“Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens…”

Having watched that movie recently, it got me thinking what my favorite things are or, more specifically, my favorite smells.

But since there are more than a million smells in the world, I’ll narrow it down to my top six!

1.Rain
It just makes everything smell clean, fresh, and new again. Now that I live in Florida, land of sunshine, I really miss the petrichor and relish it when it does make an appearance in Daytona.

2. Dessert Candles
Do I have to pick just one scent for this though? At the $1 store last weekend, I bought a “buttercream”-scented candle and holy gosh, it is heavenly! Yankee makes really yummy vanilla cupcake candles, too and when I treat myself to one, it takes everything in me not to go out and buy a package of cupcakes to go with the candle!

3. My fur baby’s fur
This might sound like a weird one, but cat fur – and more importantly the fur of my own kitties – smells so good. When I’ve had a hard day and need Mao and Tessie cuddles before bed or am snuggling with them before a nap on the weekend, I like to bury my nose in their neck/tummy fur. That smell combined with their purring = sublime.

4. Christmas Trees
Who doesn’t love this smell? Now that I’m in Florida where Christmas trees are practically triple the price, it’s more of a luxury to have this smell in your home. It seems most Floridians settle for a plastic one, which is just sad to me. Speaking of Christmas trees, did you know there’s a farm in the UK that actually rents out Christmas trees to save them from being thrown away?

5. Horses
Can I not make this one so narrow and add barns in general? And goats and their breath! (Yes, the farm girl shows her face again.) Someday I’ll have my own horses and be able to smell them every day. Their hair, not the manure, y’all.

6. The Ocean
I can’t live two minutes from the beach and not say I love the way the ocean smells. The only thing that made my move to Florida just a liiitle bit easier — besides the fact I would be seeing my mom every day — is knowing the ocean would be within a stone’s throw; no longer an hour like it was from Corvallis to Newport. Like fresh rain on pavement, the ocean has its own cleansing smell. The salt, the waves (a metaphor for wiping away a bad slate), and the sun warming up the sand? Yes, please.

What are YOUR favorite smells? Is there anything other people might find a bit strange? Do tell!