Extroverts get energized by quick action, obvious momentum and rapid shifts in events. Motivated to resolve a situation as fast as possible, they follow first impulses, interrupt, call out orders to others, ignore warnings and choose short cuts. In a crisis, it’s the introverts who pause to analyze the circumstances, weigh pros and cons, and then think up a comprehensive strategy.

As I’ve explained in other posts, this contrast occurs because of differences in brain neurotransmitters and brain anatomy. Extroverts are biologically primed for novelty, excitement, rapid information processing and swift reactions. Introverts have opposite built-in biases, for reflection, calm, observation and waiting to act wisely.

Which preference has more success depends on the situation. Let’s say you’re in the first car to come upon an accident on a twisty, two-lane road. The Jackrabbit’s instinct to jump out of the car, call 911 immediately, try to help anyone who’s injured and delegate others to manage oncoming traffic is obviously excellent. But the Snail’s holdback and more deliberate responses facilitate the observation of details that will help authorities understand what happened there and why.

Imagine then that no one is seriously injured, yet because of the remoteness of the location, it will take an hour or more for a wrecker to arrive and clear the road. The Jackrabbit might find the prospect of waiting so aversive that they back out and seek any detour, even one that will take much longer to drive than waiting. (I have known people like that!) The Snail has a greater capacity to remain at the scene without getting antsy.

We can learn to be more patient, psychologists say. Mindfulness meditation helps over the long term. Slow, deep breathing helps in the here and now. Some people have philosophical mantras, such as “It is what it is,” that calm them down. Others look for some humor in a situation, which releases the tension of waiting.

Also helpful is a strategy called preemption – thinking of some good results that might come about as a result of a negative situation at hand. For instance, when stuck waiting for the truck to clear the road, you could tell yourself, “Oh good – now would be a good time to talk through that dilemma we need to solve.”

Patience is good for your health. Those capable of waiting for rewards tend to live longer and have fewer medical conditions, better metabolism, less unhappiness and healthier weight, compared to chronically impatient people. As a Jackrabbit, intense reactions to everyday challenges put stress on your nervous system and heart. You may also have a harder time sticking to healthy lifestyle practices like good sleep, a balanced diet and regular exercise. As a Snail, your body experiences less wear and tear from constantly being in fight-or-flight mode.

And by the way, if you want to read a book that upends negative stereotypes – indeed, any stereotypes – about snails, I recommend The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating by Elisabeth Tova Bailey. It recounts Bailey’s convalescence from a long illness with a small, subdued snail as her cherished bedside companion. Its pace of living perfectly matched hers during that season of her life.

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Although introverts sometimes star in high-drama, action-packed narratives (I am thinking of you, Jack Reacher!), more often they headline contemplative, introspective books with a lot of attention to inner experiences, subtle dilemmas and artful resolutions. This focus fits the realms where introverts naturally find the most meaning and satisfaction. According to a “Need for Drama” study by the website 16Personalities.com of some 24,000 people, introverts are significantly less likely than extroverts to enjoy and engage in public conflict. Chaotic situations in real life make us want to duck with our eyes rolling rather than takes sides and cheer on the protagonists.

No wonder many introverts find the ancient philosophy of the Stoics appealing. Around 2,000 years ago, thinkers like Marcus Aurelius, Seneca and Epictetus discussed the wisdom of letting others revel in their ensnarement over trivial issues while concentrating instead on one’s own character and values. If you can pause and reflect while other people are unspooling their favorite dramas in complaints or clashes, you can stay uninvolved, preserving your energy. A Stoic perspective encourages onlookers to mind our own business. Marcus Aurelius tried to remind himself every morning when he woke up: “The people I deal with today will be meddling, ungrateful, arrogant, dishonest, jealous, and surly.” I imagine him saying that to the mirror while washing his face, then going through his day remaining apart from the histrionics hurled his way.

Books – and people – without high drama or interpersonal fireworks have much to offer. Often their gift is just something to consider rather than wins over losses. In Autumn Rounds, the question is what makes us feel closer to others. All the Beauty in the World gets us thinking about our relationship to the greatness of art. Stoner invites us to weigh the worth of a life without show-stopping triumphs. The Elegance of the Hedgehog describes the age-defying, class-ignoring dynamics of mutual recognition.

For me, such themes are like instrumental airs laced with graceful melodies, in contrast to crashing symphonies. Introverts tend to resonate with these smaller-scale, more interior tales, rich with delicate observations, sensitive truths, tender experiences, evocative rhythms, ambiguous lessons and atmospheric graspings for meaning. Join me in discovering the charms of introverted storytelling by becoming a paid subscriber to Introvert UpThink. You’ll get instant access to four years of past paywalled book posts along with new ones coming out monthly during the next 12 months. As a paid subscriber, you also help support my open-access posts advocating on behalf of introverts. Sign up here. If you’re already a paid subscriber, thank you!

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In The Apology, Socrates related that since childhood he had a daimon, a spiritual guardian whose trusted voice others could not hear, who warned him when he was about to make a bad decision or walk down a dangerous path. Dante’s spirit guides while writing his masterwork The Divine Comedy were the ancient Roman poets Virgil and Ovid. Robert Louis Stevenson claimed to have a whole crew of mischievous inner “Brownies” who not only came up with plots for him while he slept but also guided his daytime writing and worked overtime for him when he desperately needed money.

Victoria Woodhull, who ran for president in the 1872 US election, had an inner advisory committee of five spirits, chaired by the ancient Greek orator Demosthenes. In turn, shipping magnate Cornelius Vanderbilt trusted her guides to advise him on his investments. Other examples of noted figures who trusted inner helpers include inventor Nikola Tesla, authors William Blake and Arthur Conan Doyle, political wife Imelda Marcos, Hillary Clinton when she was US First Lady, and Nobel Prize winner Wolfgang Pauli. Napoleon Bonaparte claimed to be guided by a Star of Destiny up in the sky, and because no one else could see it, I would put it in the same category.

You needn’t conduct a candles-and-joined-hands séance or believe in the supernatural in order to find and utilize an inner helper. According to Jungian psychologists, a process called “active imagination” allows you to tap into unconscious knowledge and wisdom that your conscious mind may not have access to. The process can be as simple as closing your eyes, relaxing and allowing a being to form in your mind that you can ask questions of. By giving that mental entity a name, you may find it easier to consult that sage again when you need guidance.

It’s crucial not to try to control or stage-manage the inner helper, but rather to watch and listen, says Robert A. Johnson, author of Inner Work: Using Dreams and Active Imagination for Personal Growth. This distinguishes the technique from guided visualizations that also conjure up an inner entity but provide a script for the session designed to boost confidence or produce some other positive result. Active imagination produces discoveries and insights because it proceeds unscripted.

Johnson addresses the feeling some people have that in an active imagination session, they’re simply making something up:

“It is nearly impossible to produce anything in the imagination that is not an authentic representation of something in the unconscious. The whole function of the imagination is to draw up the material from the unconscious, clothe it in images, and transmit it to the conscious mind. Whatever comes up in the imagination must have been living somewhere in the fabric of the unconscious before it was given an image-form by the imagination.”

Johnson helpfully describes a number of starting points if active imagination is new to you. First, if you already have an active fantasy life, simply start a dialogue with one of its images, in your head or on paper. Second, you could use your imagination to visit a place and explore to see who you meet there. Third, if there’s a mood you can’t shake off, begin talking to it as you would to an imaginary friend. And fourth, if you have vivid or troubling dreams, contact something from one of your dreams and engage in a dialogue.

Carl Jung called the spirit in which we undertake active imagination “willed introversion,” because it involves deliberately focusing on inward energy. Introverts tend to be more comfortable with this kind of self-reflective focus, as well as with waiting silently for the unconscious responses to surface. The rewards of the practice are largely internal, too, including a resolution of inner conflicts, improved inward harmony, and a greater sense of meaning.

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Elizabeth Cady grew up as a favorite of her father, a well-to-do landowner, judge and lawmaker in upstate New York. While playing in her father’s study, she heard about the travails of wives beaten or beaten down by cruel, abusive husbands. She resolved to use scissors to cut the laws permitting such mistreatment out of his law books, “supposing my father and his library were the beginning and the end of the law.” Her father explained that only by persuading the legislators in Albany to enact new laws would there be a change in women’s condition.

Persuasion indeed became her life’s work, as she tirelessly wrote petitions, corresponded with other agitators and crafted speeches to urge equal rights for women, not only with respect to voting but also in marriage, education and finances. To my delight, she also pursued the art of the symbolic gesture. In her teens, she orchestrated a silent walkout of women from church to protest a preacher expounding on the supposed inferiority of women. When she married anti-slavery crusader Henry Stanton, she insisted that the word “obey” be omitted from their marriage vows. In the 1850s, she exulted in the freedom of “bloomers,” wearing the revolutionary new loose trousers with short dresses exclusively for two years even though this embarrassed her son.

In 1866, irked that state and federal laws explicitly defined voters as male, Stanton made this deficiency a talking point nationwide by running for Congress. “Although, by the Constitution of the State of New York woman is denied the elective franchise, yet she is eligible to office; therefore, I present myself to you as a candidate for Representative to Congress,” she announced. This creative act of protest five decades before women won the right to vote lay the foundation for Victoria Woodhull’s run for President in 1872 and subsequent political campaigns by women that eventually succeeded.

Here are some key indicators of introvert tendencies that I detected when I read up on her:

• Stanton called her family a “quiet retreat,” even though her household came to include seven children. She often wrote at the kitchen table with several youngsters underfoot. Introverts often feel most at home at home.

• Although she instigated and chaired several women’s rights conventions, Stanton often begged off attending them. “I would rather be burnt at the stake (under the influence of an anaesthetic!) than go through another,” she complained to Susan B. Anthony. She was more in her element when writing and strategizing than amidst the hubbub of a crowd.

• Despite being a public figure much of her life, with close friends and a prolific writing regimen, she guarded her privacy. She didn’t confide intimate thoughts to others in person or in letters.

• Fellow activists often argued with Stanton over her tendency to present a big-picture vision of equality between men and women rather than just the singular – and more acceptable – goal of the right to vote. ‘I feel it to be my special mission to tell people what they are not prepared to hear,” she said. Intense, righteous, self-confident and often outraged, she rarely agreed to compromise in favor of the prudent or pragmatic course of action. To her, the mental essence of an idea mattered more than social cohesion. If organized religion was sexist, then let’s write about that, she figured, spending a decade or so on The Woman’s Bible, despite that project losing her much popular support.

• She regarded thinking as one of the greatest pleasures in life. Had she been allowed to become a lawyer, she would undoubtedly have excelled in its adversarial combat. She enjoyed argumentation and loved “hurling thunder” at opponents. Because of her tendency to speak her mind, potential supporters or friends sometimes found her intimidating. Again, abstractions were a guiding force for her, more so than social interchanges.

• Stanton based her appeal for women’s rights in the concept of “self sovereignty” – that is, on an ideal of autonomy and personal fulfillment. She did not argue that women deserved rights in order for them to become better wives, daughters or mothers. Instead, intellectual development was a human right for all. In a kind of proto-existentialism, she declared, “The strongest reason for giving woman all the opportunities for higher education... is the solitude and personal responsibility of her own individual life.” Every woman, like every man, ultimately faces the choices and feelings of life as a separate being, she argued.

That last point leads me to a Stanton episode that surprised me greatly, and that I’m still not sure I understand. In 1892 Elizabeth Cady Stanton delivered a speech titled “Solitude of Self” to two Congressional committees. Here is a representative sample of it:

“To appreciate the importance of fitting every human soul for independent action, think for a moment of the immeasurable solitude of self. We come into the world alone, unlike all who have gone before us; we leave it alone under circumstances peculiar to ourselves… No matter how much women prefer to lean, to be protected and supported, nor how much men desire to have them do so, they must make the voyage of life alone, and for safety in an emergency they must know something of the laws of navigation. To guide our own craft, we must be captain, pilot, engineer; with chart and compass to stand at the wheel; to match the wind and waves and know when to take in the sail, and to read the signs in the firmament over all. It matters not whether the solitary voyager is man or woman.”

Stanton considered that speech her finest work. For me, the startling part is that Congress also resonated with this stark, atomistic point of view, much more palatable for introverts than for extroverts. Today’s prevailing view holds that human life is inherently social, that we are interconnected beings who cannot thrive without connection. Yet the 1892 legislators voted to print 10,000 copies of her testimony and distribute those copies nationwide. Perhaps today’s conviction that life is essentially communal came into being between her time and ours?

Maybe not. Doing nothing can actually boost your mental and physical health, improve memory, enhance self-awareness and foster creative thinking. It can also feel deliciously restorative. Here’s the science – and why intentional disengagement from the whirl of busyness has special relevance for introverts.

The Special State of Doing Nothing

Neuroscientists have discovered that a brain at rest enters a distinctive condition called the Default Mode Network, or DMN. This is an autopilot system that facilitates the consolidation of memories, the processing of emotions and integration of new information. With even a brief timeout from stimulation, you allow your brain to form less obvious connections and recover the ability to focus.

In addition, by taking a break from constant arousal, your nervous system resets with a lower heart rate, healthier blood pressure and a reduced level of stress hormones. This helps prevent burnout, irritability and reactive conflicts. Being alone with your thoughts while not trying to do anything in particular helps you tune into yourself for firmer self-identity and to understand others with greater empathy. It also helps you integrate your past, present and future into a coherent narrative about yourself in the world.

Note that the DMN differs from the concept that listening to music, playing video games or checking piled-up emails all count as “rest.” Even meditation, which many people consider to be a break from productivity, is too purposeful for dropping into the DMN. Instead, envision receptive daydreaming, idle drifting, woolgathering or mind wandering.

Even five or ten minutes of disengaged, unfocused spacing out will begin to bring on the benefits above.

Not convinced yet? One of the most celebrated investors in the world, Warren Buffett, is a huge proponent of undirected reverie. Several articles and videos sum up his philosophy and habits in the headline, “Doing Nothing Can Make You Rich.” In his words, “I insist on a lot of time being spent, almost every day, to just sit and think. That is very uncommon in American business. I read and think. So I do more reading and thinking, and make less impulse decisions than most people in business.”

Fears about falling behind may keep many people from welcoming do-nothing intervals. There may also be something scary for some about the experience of pure idleness. In a famous 2014 experiment by psychologists from the University of Virginia and Harvard, almost half of the participants preferred giving themselves mild electrical shocks to sitting quietly alone. “Simply being alone with their thoughts was apparently so aversive that it drove many participants to self-administer an electric shock that they had earlier said they would pay to avoid,” the researchers reflected.

Where Introverts Come In

Surprisingly, the psychologists in the self-shocking experiment didn’t find a correlation between the ability to tolerate 15 silent minutes alone and introversion/extroversion. However, when other scientists wired up both introverts and extroverts and studied their responses to high and low stimulation settings, they found that introverts’ brains tended to remain in the DMN mode even in a high stimulation environment. That is, their mind wandering did not ever shut down completely, whereas extroverts’ brains did shift out of DMN when external stimulation increased. In addition, introverts show a more internal focus when our brains relax into DMN mode.

Because of the DMN, introverts’ brains tend to excel at spotting subtle patterns, synthesizing complex information, expressing ideas creatively and overlaying our inner and outer worlds with meaning.

And here’s one recommendation for daily life from the research in this post: When someone in front of you in the checkout line dawdles annoyingly, take that as a gift. Chill. Let your mind downshift into idle and enjoy the opportunity for a life-enhancing break outside of normal time.

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In 160 pages, Austrian author Robert Seethaler takes us into the unspectacular yet compelling life of a stoic, taciturn mountain villager, from his birth in 1902 to his death in the 1980s. “As a child Andreas Egger had never shouted or cheered. He didn’t even really talk until his first year at school,” Seethaler tells us. Introverted Egger grew up as an orphan in the harsh home of relatives, lame but physically strong and resilient. He found work as a laborer for a company that built cable-car systems in the mountains. He wooed an equally quiet young woman, married her and lost her when an avalanche killed her.

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“You don’t have to become anyone else.

Not a more social version of yourself. Not a louder one, or a more visible one, or one that performs enthusiasm for rooms you find exhausting and calls the performance growth. Not the version that other people have been designing in their heads since they first decided your quietness was a problem requiring their input. Not that version. Not any version that starts from the assumption that who are currently are is the draft and someone else gets to write the final copy.

You are already the final copy. The editing that was being suggested was never for your benefit.”

Shende invites us to think about the difference between a change that unmistakably improves our own lives and a change that mainly makes other people more comfortable. For example, if you’d rather not answer unexpected telephone calls, must you cater to other people’s convenience? If friends wish you’d loosen up and socialize more often, would that enrich your life or just fit better with their preferences? If you tend to save heartfelt thoughts for intimate friends and your partner, would becoming more communicative in more situations serve you or serve others?

Generally speaking, should you spend your energy becoming more like the “you” that other people regard as the norm or more like yourself? Again, here is Shende:

“Performing is, in a certain way, easier than being. You know what the performance asks for and you produce it and the room gives you its approval and the transaction is complete. Being – actually being, fully and without apology, the specific person you are with your specific history and your specific preferences and your specific walk – is harder, and quieter, and produces a kind of satisfaction that the performance never could, because it is genuinely yours rather than theirs returned to you.”

Let them try to make you conform, he says, and then just go your own way. You don’t owe anyone a song and dance about your decision. They may very well misinterpret your behavior. So what? Think of the energy saved by not trying to defend how you are or convince others that what makes you tingle with excitement or sigh with contentment deserves their approval. You’ll experience less stress, greater creativity and much more self-respect.

The quintessential refusal here appears in the 1853 story “Bartleby the Scrivener” by Herman Melville. Bartleby is a clerk in a Wall Street law firm who does careful work until one day he begins saying “I would prefer not to” whenever he’s asked to do some job task. For months, he says nothing more than that phrase, no matter how others in the firm try to reason with him.

You needn’t go that far. After all, Bartleby becomes homeless and eventually dies in prison of preferring not to eat.

You may find more practical guidance in the philosophical thoughts of Marcus Aurelius, the Roman emperor (121-180 CE) still revered for his clear-eyed reflections about mortality and self-mastery. Marcus Aurelius pointed out that when we try to mold ourselves according to the opinions of others, we are posing for heaps of sand that will soon be covered over by more and more sand. The people whose praise or criticism we shape ourselves for are, moreover, unknown to us – strangers we may meet only for moments, or never, he says.

“So much more respect have we to what our neighbors shall think of us than to what we shall think of ourselves,” Marcus Aurelius marveled. We need not hand over our power and autonomy to others, he argued. Keep in mind too, he urged, that only our own thoughts are within our control. Living according to what the nameless hordes think and feel about us is an unnecessary and unwise surrender, he maintained.

You may decide that the hassle of other people’s silent or voiced disapproval isn’t worth following that advice. But give the no-apologies, no-explanations idea a thought, all the same.

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Besides being enjoyable on its own for those who like to sit and think, introspection has a number of important benefits. Not only is it a method for knowing oneself, it can foster originality, surface perceptive observations about others and contribute to wiser decisions.

If you want to jump on the introspection bandwagon, here is a primer on how to get started.

Introspection involves paying attention to what’s inside of you. Some people find meditation is their ideal vehicle for traveling inward. Thoughts that drift by while one is counting breaths or repeating a mantra might reveal a significant pattern. In addition, the habit of sitting quietly in a mode of non-attachment often sets the stage for valuable insights to float into the mind during the rest of the day.

Depending on the intention driving it, writing in a journal can also promote introspection. Don’t vent when you journal or simply record what happened day by day. Instead, explore. What are some underlying factors in what’s been going on around you? How does one issue you’ve been tussling with relate to another one? How are you living your values and how are you not? What would you like to change about yourself and why? What are you most afraid of? And so on.

Just walking alone and thinking, or thinking while chopping wood, kneading bread or doodling on your telephone bill can amount to introspection, too. Generally this works best without specific effort. While humming along in neutral, you allow things to well up and swirl around. You can also set a problem before your mind and then let go, allowing your subconscious mind to send you a surprising solution or a juicy insight when you least expect it.

Perhaps talking something through with a close, trusted friend who patiently waits while you pause to reflect is another method of introspection. The other person’s presence and mindful listening help you break out of a repetitive loop where you go over the same thoughts or feelings again and again.

Although you may choose to share selections from your meditations, journaling or thinking sessions with followers or the public, introspection should be primarily for yourself. Spewing thoughts onto social media doesn’t count as introspection, because having readers, listeners or viewers brings in the element of posturing or performance. Chances are, part of you would be tracking how you are coming across to others and modifying your thinking accordingly.

Introspection can help you become more yourself and less of a mirror of others. It can boost your emotional intelligence, bring greater clarity into your life, empower you to act consistently with your values and enhance contentment. It provides a key counterbalance to society’s pressures to do, do, do.

Just make sure you engage in introspection in a spirit of curiosity and wonder. As an introvert, you’ll get hooked – healthily so. As Aristotle wrote thousands of years ago, “The pleasures arising from thinking and learning will make us think and learn all the more.”

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Today gravitas lives on in politics and in corporate workplaces throughout the world as a measure of individual worthiness and suitability for leadership. Someone with gravitas has the steady poise and purposefulness to be taken seriously. In the sphere of business, this quality also goes by the name “executive presence.”

For a perfect instance of gravitas, consider the actor James Earl Jones, whose deeply honeyed voice and slow, authoritative delivery made his performances in films like Star Wars, The Lion King and Coming to America iconic – not to mention his advertising one-liners like “This is CNN.” Ditto for newscasting legend Walter Cronkite, who never hurried, never lost his equilibrium and in most viewers’ eyes, never lied. Humanitarian Eleanor Roosevelt and author Maya Angelou had gravitas, too, voicing lofty principles at a formal pace with appealing rhythm, strategic pauses and commanding posture.

Gravitas is the rare instance where cultural stereotypes favor introverts. Although not all introverts have gravitas, several aspects of this attribute line up neatly with introvert tendencies.

The power of the pause. Introverts generally prefer to think before speaking and to choose words with care, even if this produces a stop-and-start-again delivery. This gives what we do say more weight and may make us seem wiser, more serious and more in control of ourselves than those who say whatever quickly comes to mind. Voilà: more gravitas.

Slower pace. Along with thinking before speaking, introverts tend to say fewer words per minute than average. I’ll never forget once hearing Prairie Home Companion’s ponderous Garrison Keillor being interviewed on the radio by a rapid-fire young journalist. The former sounded like a lumbering bear being buzzed by a bumblebee. Regardless of the content of their remarks, Keillor came across definitively as the one with gravitas.

Comfort with silence. The party in a conversation who lets silence sit is most likely an introvert. This conveys the self-confidence of someone who is grounded in themselves and doesn’t need to jockey for approval all the time. Again we have a component of gravitas.

Reserve. Someone with a more emotionally restrained manner, like Gary Cooper, Clint Eastwood or many introverts, appears to have the steadiness, competence and self-sufficiency that contribute to gravitas. This kind of energy can deepen the mood around them and put others in touch with the less impulsive, more reflective side of themselves.

Remember, of course, that someone with a deliberative vibe is not necessarily a deeper person worthy of everyone else’s attention. Gravitas can be a matter of style or performance and nothing more. Note also that the prevailing image of gravitas favors men. In addition, gravitas can be cultivated or enhanced through feedback, coaching and practice. All the same, those with the inborn, natural predilections of introverts often fit the benchmarks of gravitas with little or no conscious effort.

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Consider, for example, the accusation that you are a “loner.” This may be meant to cast you as a pitiable, friendless, emotionally shaky individual. Yet some people defend lonerhood as a life advantage. Tim Denning, who has more than 100,000 followers now on Substack, says the label “loner” used to hurt him, implying – he thought – that he was weird. Gradually, however, he understood that time alone, when he was pursuing his obsessive interests, amounted to radical self-care and gave him true freedom. “Being alone is a power very few can handle,” he asserts, quoting a writer named Aaron Will.

There’s also the classic “party pooper” label, which suggests someone who doesn’t know how to have a fun time and thereby spoils the mood of others. We can imagine someone smiling at this, conceding, “Yes, it’s true, parties aren’t my thing,” in a tone of voice that states a plain fact without denigrating anyone else. After all, some people don’t like tossing a football, or catching butterflies, or climbing social ladders, or listening to opera. It takes all kinds, right?

Here we can detect a strategy for removing the sting from a hurtful, anti-introvert insult. First, you shuck the negativity from their phrase. Then you extract the nub and polish the nastiness off of it. This maneuver works whether the insult was aimed at you or at someone else. Often it lowers the temperature of the conversation and makes others realize that perhaps their slur was unfair. For instance:

“You think too much”
“I do like to think.”

“So and so is aloof – stuck up.”
“She does keep her distance from others much of the time.”

“The new teacher has no personality.”
“Right: He is low-key and easy to get along with.”

“You need to smile more – much more.”
“My resting face is a bit grumpy looking, isn’t it?”

In this way, you don’t get argumentative back. You defuse the subtle hostility and express mild wonderment at the universe of human differences. And maybe instead of just calming a conversation once, you will have educated the other person to tweak their attitude going forward.

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Here are six strategies to consider if success makes you want to retreat to being a back-office kind of person.

1. Use a pseudonym. The author we know as Lewis Carroll carried on with his life as an Oxford don under his real name of Charles Lutwidge Dodgson. He enforced a separation between those two identities by refusing mail addressed to Lewis Carroll at his faculty office and not answering to that name in person. This helped preserve his accustomed sense of privacy and personhood. Some people accomplish a similar separation by going by two different variants of their name, professionally and personally. J.D. Salinger, the acclaimed author of Catcher in the Rye, was “Jerry” in private life.

2. Cultivate a zone of privacy. Without bodyguards, you can create a social wall of protection by moving to a sparsely settled area with an ethos of neighborly respect. David Cornwell (whom most of us know by his spy-author pen name, John Le Carré), said his farmer neighbors in Cornwall, England didn’t give a hoot about his fame. Salinger enjoyed much the same local privacy in rural New Hampshire, where his neighbors would mischievously misdirect tourists or journalists trying to find his house.

3. Decline interviews. Many well-known introverts who went all in on their profession or craft wanted – and achieved – all out when it came to media attention. This included such Hollywood greats as Fred Astaire, Greta Garbo and Alfred Hitchcock. They regarded demands from the press as overstepping into their ability to enjoy life away from the movie studio. A cynic might point out that such refusal increases the mystique swirling around them. But with power and determination, introverts can get away with this strategy.

4. Feign or exaggerate illness. For the last several decades of his life, Charles Darwin experienced a baffling array of symptoms that kept him home most of the time. This provided a socially acceptable excuse for him to concentrate on his scientific work. In his autobiography he wrote: “Ill-health, though it has annihilated several years of my life, has saved me from the distractions of society and amusement.” Florence Nightingale’s career showed much the same trajectory. She declared herself an invalid in 1857, more than 50 years before she died, and did not hesitate to cancel appointments with the excuse of a flare-up when she had urgent tasks to finish.

5. Designate a spokesperson. Both Darwin and Nightingale also engineered more time and comfort for themselves by having others engage with the public on their behalf. Thomas Henry Huxley became known as “Darwin’s bulldog” for his fierce advocacy of the theory of natural selection in lectures and debates. Darwin did his part, though, with vigorous letter-writing campaigns that he could manage from home. Likewise, Nightingale used writing to advocate for her favorite causes and draw up proposals. Then she would hand her issue off to some cabinet minister she knew through family connections for him to put her proposal into action.

6. Concentrate on intimate settings. Nineteenth-century composers Frederic Chopin and Franz Schubert couldn’t bear the exposure of performing in large concert halls. Yet both introverts built formidable reputations during their lifetimes by, in essence, sharing their music in patrons’ living rooms. Chopin’s contemplative, moody music would actually have gotten lost from a distant stage, but perfectly fit a salon. And at Schubert’s small “Schubertiads,” friends and acquaintances would read poems, sing songs at the piano and play solo pieces for one another. Today’s equivalent might be someone preferring to shine from home on YouTube to speaking from a podium at conferences – or just sharing clips on Facebook.

Which circumstances count as solitude? That’s a much harder question to answer than you might expect. At one end of the spectrum, you can read about Admiral Richard Byrd’s months-long stay alone in 1934 at a remote weather station in Antarctica. Except for periodic radio contact with his base camp, he was 123 treacherous and icy miles away from human help. By anyone’s criteria, that surely counts as solitude. In the same category I would put Christopher Knight’s 27 years living in thick Maine woods apart from other people. Though he stole into empty cabins for supplies during the off-season and occasionally heard hikers passing near him, he only once in all those years came face to face with other humans. To me, that’s clearly a long stretch of serious solitude, also.

Two fictional accounts of isolation that I discussed come close to the Byrd/Knight end of the spectrum: Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe and Isola by Allegra Goodman. In both instances, characters marooned involuntarily on an island need to establish physical and emotional self-sufficiency with limited human-made supplies and, for a long period, no one else around. Again, their predicament clearly included solitude.

At the other end of the spectrum, we have people discussing their bouts of solitude when they mean that they’re traveling, living or just eating out on their own, without companionship, amidst the human bump and grind of a city or town. Examples of this that I’ve posted about include Trina Moyles’s seasons at remote fire towers in rural Canada and Stephanie Rosenbloom’s solo trips in Paris, Istanbul, Florence and New York City. Those are comparatively light-weight or sporadic versions of solitude, because human interaction was always just a phone call or a shoulder tap away.

Between those extremes I would put Henry David Thoreau in the 1850’s, with his two independent years at Walden Pond, and Ken Smith, the so-called “Hermit of Treig,” who in the present day lived intrepidly on his own in the Scottish Highlands for 40 years. Both men relished substantial time alone with nature, but also fell in easily and pleasurably with passersby or visitors.

When I put these eight narratives together with today’s alarms about the supposed “epidemic of loneliness,” I can’t help but marvel at two truths. First, many people have a remarkable capacity for resilience. Only one of these eight accounts included serious anguish about missing human contact, which experts inform us is a universal, unbendable human need. Consider that the United Nations has outlawed solitary confinement for more than 15 consecutive days as inhumane, defining solitary confinement as being without human interaction for at least 22 hours per day. Yet people like Thoreau not only endured such solitude, they reveled in it. (He did confess that he felt lonely at Walden Pond a few weeks into his solo adventure – for exactly one hour.) Doubtless, we experience solitude differently when we have chosen it than when it’s forced on us. But it can be a choice – a choice that sits better with those who are naturally inclined to experience apartness as restorative.

Second, let’s celebrate the fact that some humans take temporary solitude, whether daylong or months-long, perfectly in stride. After all, we need people who thrive as lighthouse keepers, surveyors, back-country rangers, foresters and geologists, way out in who knows where. Or even just spending eight hours a day alone analyzing words for Merriam-Webster. A few years ago The Atlantic ran a great article about people who work nights because they find quiet time alone delicious. Long live the solituditarians!

As you consider the personalities of friends, family members, acquaintances, workmates and even yourself, don’t let these four elements blind you to what really drives those individuals.

1. Eloquent Leadership

Many look at impressive figures who had long careers in public life and assume they must have been extroverts. Yet the prophetic eloquence of Martin Luther King, Jr., for instance; the fiery determination of Frederick Douglass; the steely advocacy of Susan B. Anthony; and the visionary brilliance of John Maynard Keynes all coexisted with a gutsy inner moral compass as well as a preference to retreat to private life to recharge and strategize.

When you watch someone in your world making waves, attracting a devoted following, changing others’ minds and spearheading social transformations, remember that they don’t necessarily thrive on social interactions. They might actually be reserved and reflective, driven to live their values and cherishing their time away from the stage or microphone.

2. Personal Magnetism

Some famous people are said to have had the kind of charisma that awes and bewitches others up close. For example, actor Morgan Freeman once remarked that greatness unmistakably “just emanated” from Nelson Mandela. As for martial arts legend Bruce Lee, you can observe his mesmerizing force field yourself in his films.

Such soulful allure doesn’t imply that such people are intent on gathering others around them for aimless talk. If they become a center of attention, that happens as a side effect of their intent inner focus as introverts.

3. A Carefully Curated Image

Likewise, when someone deliberately cultivates a distinctive image, that doesn’t mean they’re someone who strides into a room with the outstretched-arms aura of “Hey, look at me!” For introverts, their image can be an outward manifestation of an inward essence, a non-conformist assertion of authenticity and individuality.

Here I am thinking of artist Georgia O’Keeffe’s severe black-and-white wardrobe with hats and capes or director Alfred Hitchcock’s signature dark suits, deadpan facial expression and frankly rotund belly. Nelson Mandela forswore European-style suits for the most part, choosing to dress as “a man of Africa – because that’s where I live.” Remember that one can make a statement without words that sums up one’s values, character and leanings. Introverts are particularly fond of that type of quiet, self-contained gesture.

4. The Social Butterfly

Most surprisingly, from the fact that someone loved to host or attend dinner parties, we can’t conclude that they were extroverts. Author Edith Wharton entertained often at home, but her dining-room table purposely fit only six people, so these were the type of intimate affair where introverts feel at ease. Similarly, spy novelist John Le Carré sparkled as a raconteur in company, but he preferred to spend most of his time alone or with family on his remote farm.

Appearances may deceive. Stereotypes and assumptions influence us unless we’re more discerning. Use these reminders to appreciate the full spectrum of anyone’s experience and behavior.

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If you’re not inclined to take Twain’s word for it, Carroll’s poem “Solitude,” published in 1856, could not leave you in any doubt: The author of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and other classic works for children was an introvert who experienced his best self apart from the cold, bitter world of other human adults.

“Solitude” begins:

“I love the stillness of the wood:
I love the music of the rill:
I love to couch in pensive mood
Upon some silent hill.”

Using romantic language typical of his era, Carroll described solitude as a relief and respite from vexations of the social world and an opportunity to rejoin, temporarily, the innocent mindset of children.

“Lewis Carroll” was actually the pen name of Charles L. Dodgson (1832-1898), a brilliant Oxford University scholar who published several influential works in mathematics and logic apart from the Alice books. Researching his life and personality, I found a few distinctive strategies for managing the pressures of fame as an introvert.

Most fascinating was the man’s insistence on keeping the identities of Dodgson and Carroll firmly separate. He refused to accept letters addressed to Lewis Carroll at his university, begged his little-girl friends who knew him as Dodgson not to tell others that he was the famous author of Alice, and avoided appearing in public to promote his popular books. In an 1891 letter to a friend he explained, “All of that sort of publicity leads to strangers hearing of my real name... and to my being pointed out to and stared at... I hate all of that so intensely that sometimes I almost wish I had never written any books at all.”

Paralleling the protection of his pseudonym was his pioneering involvement in photographic portraiture. A gifted photographer who produced striking portraits of personages like actress Ellen Terry and poet Alfred Lord Tennyson as well as of children in fanciful or risqué costumes, he rarely permitted himself to be photographed. This sideline allowed Carroll to observe and frame others artistically while staying out of the picture himself.

From the standpoint of today’s mores, it’s certainly tempting to give Carroll’s intense interest in little girls a salacious interpretation. However, consider this: When Carroll expressed an interest in photographing young girls naked, their oh-so-respectable and prim Victorian mothers did not object! It seems to me that we can’t easily put our minds into the prevailing perspectives on childhood innocence of that era.

Though he did not cultivate a public persona or give lectures about his work, Carroll kept scrapbooks of reviews and other material written about the Alice books. He even capitalized on their success by arranging for spinoff products such as cookie tins and postage-stamp cases that featured his characters.

He also cared deeply about production quality in his works. For instance, he ordered the first 2,000 copies of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland shredded because both he and the illustrator John Tenniel felt the printing was sub-par. Overall, this fits a common pattern of introverts whose creative work becomes popular: pride in craftsmanship and in having achieved public recognition of their mental efforts while evading intrusive elements of fame.

The Alice books have been translated into dozens of languages and have continuously remained in print for more than 160 years. Here is how Ethel Arnold, one of the young girls photographed by Lewis Carroll, remembered him in 1929:

“That almost curious simplicity, at times; that real and touching childlikeness that marked him in all fields of thought, appearing in his love of children and in their love for him, in his dread of giving pain to any living creature, in a certain disproportion now and then of the view he took of things — yes, and also in that deepest life, where the pure in heart and those who become as little children see the very truth, and walk in the fear and love of God.”

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According to sociologists, I learned from that article, stigma can be a mechanism of social control that a dominant group uses to corral and disparage those in the out-group. Think of the treatment of smokers, of people who tip the scales too far, and of those who shout to themselves on the streets. By isolating and excluding those stigmatized, the stigmatizers not only get to feel better about themselves. They also gain a greater share of social status, wealth and power.

The stigmatizers can relax in their supposed superiority, while those stigmatized need to learn how to cope with their lesser standing. Over and above that, some institutions and economic sectors receive hidden benefits when they go along with this good guys/bad guys system.

With respect to introverts and extroverts, here are a few points about who wins from this dynamic.

At Work

By using an open floor plan with barely divided cubicles or completely undivided office space (which introverts hate), companies save money on square footage, walls, soundproofing and more. When they implement a no-private-space “hot seat” system – where no one has assigned office space and staff snag whatever is unoccupied that day – they save on furniture and supplies as well as square footage.

When meetings run by considering just whoever speaks up – and especially those who speak up the most often and loudest – companies appear efficient, saving time.

When companies hire through conversational interviews, in which fluent talkers and charismatic fakers more easily shine, they again save time. Carefully assessing skills through task testing and questioning references, benefitting introverts, would take longer.

Companies that require carpooling and shared hotel rooms when employees must travel make it hard for introverts to get the quiet downtime they need to recharge. This policy, like those above, reinforces the dominance of extroverts and saves money.

Expectations around emotional labor such as mandatory cheerfulness, out-of-office socializing and team-building exercises likewise disadvantage introverts, and make it easier for managers to streamline their evaluations, also saving time. The same goes for expectations around employees’ self-promotion, which pressure introverts to not only do their job but also spend effort to make their achievements visible. This likewise saves managers time when they have to assess workers’ performance and consider promotions.

In Society

The billion-dollar coaching industry, which (among other things) teaches people how to perform smooth talking, expressive communication, on-the-spot responses and enthusiastic networking, partly serves to remedy introverts’ supposed shortcomings.

Media platforms make more money when they convince people that they need to keep up with what’s happening with their friends and let everyone know what they are up to themselves. Some introverts I know well don’t have any social media presence whatsoever, and many others feel reluctant or conflicted about participating in that system.

Have you noticed that the wedding industry makes big bucks when families compete to show off to one another while celebrating a marriage? Whereas extroverts tend to enjoy being the center of attention, a survey of more than 3,000 couples that eloped showed that a desire for privacy and intimacy – a hallmark of introverts – was the second most common reason for resisting the hoopla of a traditional wedding.

And think about the vested interest tech companies have in making you feel embarrassed that your devices are outmoded, even if they still function fine. Such companies make more money when, like extroverts, you care a lot about the opinions of others.

At School

Many grading systems explicitly reward those who participate early and often in class discussions and put those who’d rather listen and reflect later when they’re alone (the introverts) on the defensive. Teachers and school systems save time when they can evaluate everyone by one set of standards that may not fit all. Note too that the extrovert-advantage standards help prepare students for extrovert-advantage workplaces.

Individually

Instead of a world doing its best to treat individuals with the kind of respect that uniquely suits them, systems tilt one way. Introverts are the ones who must adjust to extroverts being touted as the normal way to be. When did you last hear someone being criticized as needing to learn to spend quiet time alone? The cost of human variation gets borne for the most part by those deemed different, not by society.

In some respects, that regimentation has improved. More people understand now when you say, “That doesn’t work for me. I’m an introvert.” And some institutions, like Walmart and Target with their sensory-friendly hours, have taken baby steps toward conditions conducive to the comfort of those who differ from the norm.

But the exercise of writing this post has certainly gotten me thinking.

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A lifelong lover of New York City, Gornick portrays two fascinating kinds of relationships in the book: an arm’s-length attachment to her best friend Leonard and fleeting yet highly meaningful encounters with strangers. Both might be described as types of independent intimacy – deep engagements with boundaries that keep Gornick simultaneously involved in the stream of life and free. Although I don’t believe such connections are characteristic of all or even most introverts, their dynamics illustrate certain introvert tendencies.

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“I must be far from men and women
To love their ways.
I must be on a mountain
Breathing greatly like a tree
If my heart would yearn a little
For the peopled, placid valley.”

The poem captivated me, so much so that I read the whole piece half a dozen times. When I researched Gidlow, I became even more intrigued to learn that although the poem seems to express estrangement from other people, she had actually created and led a bohemian community in the Mount Tamalpais woods north of San Francisco. Called Druid Heights, this enclave attracted innumerable musicians, writers and counterculture icons over the years, including jazz great Dizzy Gillespie, folk singers Judy Collins and Neil Young, writers Gary Snyder, Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac and pro-prostitution activist Margot St. James.

Those who lived there long-term, including Gidlow and East-West philosopher Alan Watts, built quirky wooden dwellings distinctly separate from one another in a style that resembled hobbit versions of Frank Lloyd Wright.

The ethos of Druid Heights struck a balance between individualism and autonomy on the one hand and non-demanding companionship on the other. It was not a commune, where people had explicit responsibilities to one another. Instead, it represented a refuge from the conformity of mainstream society, an alternate world where residents and visitors could engage in solitude with firm boundaries along with respectful, affectionate connection. In other words, it was a paradise for introverts.

From her twenties on, Elsa Gidlow wrote and lived as a lesbian. She advocated free love –non-monogamy. During the McCarthy era, her social transgressions earned her a spot in front of California’s version of the infamous House UnAmerican Activities Committee. There she testified that she was an anarchist, not a Communist. This meant that she rejected the authority of the state, organized religion and traditional norms of sex and gender. She strongly felt she needed no permission from anyone on how to live her life.

Her non-conformity and fondness for solitude place her in the American tradition of Henry David Thoreau, whose two-year sojourn at Walden Pond and his night in jail as a conscientious objector remain classic. But Gidlow also felt a keen spiritual kinship with the Taoist poets of ancient China, who celebrated encounters with nature and with passing strangers amidst misty mountains. One of her poems, “Ecstasy,” laments that the rapture of pure consciousness was so hard for others to appreciate, ending this way:

“Stars, stars, stoop down,
Stars, turn from your courses,
Spill into my hands!
Stars, you are my kindred:
I am strong with a new loneliness
That no one understands.”

Druid Heights is currently owned by the US National Park Service, but much of the property is in disrepair and it’s not open to the public. Elsa Gidlow’s poetry lives on here and here. You can watch her on video in excerpts from the 1977 documentary “Word is Out” here.

Recently published

“Her Day in Court”: nonfiction about a legal problem that ensnared me

“Baggage”: microfiction based on historical events

“Muted”: a sweet short story

“Outliers”: fiction inspired by a spooky interchange during my travels