Not long ago, the woman who sits at a desk directly opposite mine said to me: “Look at my plant.” Through some miracle (over-watering), her ficus (probably not, I just like the word) was doing something called transpiring, which means its leaves were sprouting charming little droplets of water at their tips.

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Now, I like a good botany phenomenon just as much as the next guy, but my first impulse was to feel bad for the plant because it was having attention called to it. One moment the ficus (still probably not) was just there, being a quiet green plant and trying to relax us and fix our climate destruction, and the next there were several people around staring and pointing at it. I remained at my desk, a short distance away. (It’s important to observe personal space boundaries.)

My next impulse was to be very jealous. No one ever asks the plant to brainstorm or where it went on vacation or what it got for lunch (water; apparently too much).

Estimates of the number of introverts versus extroverts in the world are all over the map. Some say we may make up 25 percent of the population, while others say the ratio is roughly 50-50.

Still others reject the distinction altogether, arguing that most people have characteristics of both introversion and extroversion. Might this augur an end to Myers-Briggs and other personality inventories? If so, how, for example, would first dates and the digital communication surrounding them work? Would they be, I don’t know, awkward?

But I am here to tell you, now, based on zero scientific evidence and slightly more anecdotal evidence, like the number of meetings I see and nervously attend, the spirited Slack chats and the ease with which my co-workers share personal information and trade banter, that we introverts are woefully outnumbered. Or maybe we are just hiding?