Recently attended the annual Crime Bake in Boston and outside of the suspicion that the hotel where it was held only exists for laundering money—rugs held together with duct tape, both freezing and boiling meeting rooms, a restaurant without enough cheese to make a sandwich—I once again confronted my simultaneous desire to contribute to this community of writers and to hide in a corner.

Then I came across a book that illuminated for me some of the whiplashing I put myself through in the context of trying to belong and not being sure I want to.

The Gift of Not Belonging by Rami Kaminski, subtitled How Outsiders Thrive in a World of Joiners, posits that in addition to introverts and extroverts, there is a personality type the author calls otroversion.

Kaminski’s definition follows:

An otrovert embodies the personality trait of non-belonging: remaining an eternal outsider in a communal world. Unlike those with relational disorders, otroverts are empathetic and friendly, yet struggle to truly belong in social groups, despite no apparent behavioral distinctions from well-adjusted individuals.

Sound at all familiar? Here is Kaminski’s list of the fundamental qualities of otroverts.

Lack of a communal impulse—preferring one-on-one conversations to group gatherings.Always an observer, never a true participant—secretly feeling like an outsider in any groupNonconforming—marching not to the beat of their own drum, but to another instrument altogetherIndependent original thinking—rejecting collective groupthink

Can’t say I’m going to sign up for everything he says, especially his contention that all original work ever done in the world was done by individuals, not group. But the notion my desire to both engage with groups and not be a member is appealing.

And it is not, as one friend put it when I was explaining the concept to her, the Groucho Marx story about not wanting to be a member of a club that would have me. It’s more being able to be a part of a group and contribute without ever feeling truly a part of it. It is not, as an extrovert might think, a pathology, but another way of looking at the world. And one I find oddly comforting.