“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

“When you play alone, the first thing you notice is the quiet. Not just the absence of conversation but the absence of obligation. There’s no one to entertain, no one to impress, no one to keep pace with. The game slows down, not necessarily in time but in texture. You begin to hear things: the clean strike of a well-hit iron, the hollow punctuation of a ball dropping into the cup, the low rustle of wind moving through trees. The sounds of golf, usually background noise, become the experience itself.”

Alone, Belsky found himself more focused and more eager to try risky moves. He noted too that what we now think of as a quintessentially group activity seems to have started as “an improvised diversion for shepherds and other loners who had the time, space, and inclination to swing a crooked stick at a rock or piece of hardened dung.”

This essay got me thinking about other normally social pursuits that become more pure, more intense when experienced alone. As a guard at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, for example, Patrick Bringley had the opportunity before or after his shifts to stand face to face with world-class masterpieces of painting or sculpture. All to yourself in a gallery, without crowds, art is nothing but the art. In his memoir, All the Beauty in the World, Bringley described “the fluttering in my chest” while contemplating a 1565 work by Pieter Bruegel and other artistic creations that touched his soul. Perhaps we could have such an experience by arriving early or staying as late as allowed?

And while most people consider restaurant dining tailor-made for you and a spouse, a date or good friends, some food enthusiasts feel eating alone enhances their enjoyment of a meal. “Dining solo allows you to keep the focus on the food, soaking in every detail of the experience,” notes an Inspector for the Michelin Guide. Travel writer Amanda Kohr puts it this way:

“When dining alone, we eliminate one (albeit, sometimes pleasant) distraction from mealtime: listening and answering. Instead, our senses hone into the nourishment that sits before us. We drag our bread through olive oil, noticing the earthy green hue that coats the fluffy interior. The crunch of charred broccoli hums through our mouths. We slurp an oyster and taste the ocean.”

Journalist John Henderson, who brags that he’s visited 114 countries, likewise swears by traveling alone. It helps you be confident in your own impressions of a place, rather than being influenced by companions, he says, adding: “When you travel alone, it’s never crowded. You have the freedom to go where you want and do what you want when you want. There is no discussion. There is no committee. There is no compromise.” Dining solo and traveling by yourself might feel risky, as if strangers’ eyes are judging you as an oddity, but maybe that even multiplies your satisfaction when you go ahead and do so anyway.

Exploring a city – your own or a new one – alone on foot is a perfect instance where being on your own enables you to poke around wherever your curiosity leads you and to imbibe the quirky essence of the place without someone else’s filters. Think of Greta Garbo on her epic walks around New York City, dipping in and out of shops as impulses struck her, protecting her privacy with dowdy clothes, dark glasses and scarves.

And finally, while writing this post I remembered a short story I published ages ago, “Doors Made to Order,” about a well-heeled elderly woman who hears a haunting piece of chamber music at a concert and hires the musicians to replay it just for her in her home. Obviously, that’s a very costly option. But if you have another just-me idea along these lines, go for it, I say.

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To my surprise – and disappointment – I discovered that Rosenfeld was not actually offering advice specifically for introverts, but rather for anyone who feels diminished by their differences from the norm. The author’s perspective is sensible for the most part, as you can tell from this representative sample:

“Deviating from the norm can be daunting. It’s human nature to want to conform, and being different can make you feel vulnerable. Fears of judgment and rejection often deter people from embracing their uniqueness. But developing the courage to do something different is a critical step toward letting go of self-doubt.”

Most of the anecdotes illustrating Rosenfeld’s confidence-building principles and strategies featured his own physical and social challenges due to having cerebral palsy. Very little in the book has to do with introversion, but the term does appear in sprinkles here and there.

I suspect the publisher or editor wasn’t sure how to sell Rosenfeld’s general psychological commentary and motivational advice, and came up with the introvert angle as a potential differentiator in the self-help marketplace. All the same, The Confidence Equation prompted me to give further thought to the place of vulnerability in communication and in relationships, as well as whether or not the topic has special importance for introverts.

As discussed by contemporary psychologists, vulnerability applies where someone takes an action or voices a message that might reflect somewhat badly on themselves. According to Rosenfeld’s schema (a theory brought into popular culture by Brené Brown), vulnerability powerfully brings the person and their audience much closer. Does it?

So let’s imagine first a situation where Isaac, an introvert, is attending the reception for a family wedding. He leans over to a tablemate and confides, “This is way overstimulating for me. I wish I could just give my good wishes to the bride and groom and go home.” According to the vulnerability proponents, such confessions of socially unacceptable, purported weaknesses increase your likeability. “Being vulnerable earns others’ respect, empathy and appreciation for your perspective,” contends Rosenfeld. Hmm. Maybe Isaac’s honesty would inspire the tablemate to appreciate him. But it can equally spark harsh condemnation: “This is a once-in-a-lifetime celebration for your cousin! Your feelings don’t count. This is not a day to act selfishly.”

Next let’s imagine Ione, also an introvert, giving a talk about local home buying and selling trends to her Chamber of Commerce, with the idea that this will increase demand for her real estate services. When she realizes there’s a goof on one of her slides, she tries to make a joke of it, saying, “Numbers! They are not my friends.” Uneasy laughter ripples through the room. Will this vulnerable comment make the audience like her more? Maybe, maybe not. Will confessing her weakness earn the “respect, empathy and appreciation” of her fellow businesspeople? I don’t believe so. After all, real estate people need to be 100 percent accurate and trustworthy about numbers. Very large, precise numbers tend to be involved in buying and selling houses or land.

Initially I couldn’t think of a reason why it would be relevant in these situations that Isaac and Ione are introverts. If we imagine extroverts Eddie and Elaine at the wedding or speaking to the Chamber, it wouldn’t change the dynamics of listeners’ reactions to someone’s vulnerability. Thinking about it more, though, I thought perhaps introverts get mentioned because we are temperamentally the most resistant to this share-your-shortcomings advice. Introverts tend to care about privacy and therefore would tend to balk at the advice to share their inadequacies with acquaintances or strangers.

In my previous career, when I spoke at marketing or small-business conferences, I often heard another expert urging the audience to “be vulnerable” in their newsletters or on their blogs or websites. People want to do business with individuals they know, like and trust, the rationale went, and sharing personal stories in which you had failed, made mistakes or experienced a weakness was a surefire way of earning trust.

As someone who paid close attention to how professionals presented themselves in speaking and in writing, I disagreed with this advice then, and I disagree with it now. Why?

First, as in Ione’s case, I saw way too many instances where someone blithely shared what many others viewed as discrediting information, causing readers or listeners to doubt their decision-making judgements or general character. Savvy people might not want to hire an accountant who had once had a gambling addiction or several bankruptcies, even if she claimed to have overcome the problem. Discerning consumers would not be attracted to the couch of a therapist who said he had learned invaluable lessons from his three divorces.

Second, I didn’t like the formulaic nature of the recommendation: Say X about yourself in order to get Y. This seemed gratuitous and manipulative to me, and an invitation for fakery or insincerity.

Third, because I cared about my own privacy and knew many of my introverted clients felt the same way, the recommendation to put intimate failings on display rubbed me the wrong way. When I worked with clients on their “About Me” web pages, I encouraged them to be candid about their personality and their distinctive methods of working. By doing so, they would attract their ideal customers or clients and subtly discourage those likely to be a mismatch. This process did not require revealing any of one’s worst business or personal moments.

It’s true that I’ve seen a few cases where a vulnerable touch seems to have been well implemented. For instance, the official bio of consultant Alan Weiss, one of the two smartest people I’ve ever met, includes this sentence: “He once appeared on the popular American TV game show Jeopardy, where he lost badly in the first round to a dancing waiter from Iowa.” This provides a humorous counterpoint to his impressive achievements, making him a tad less intimidating. Yet keep in mind that companies hire him for his management expertise, which is completely separate from his knowledge of trivia.

Overall, I remain unconvinced that going vulnerable with acquaintances or strangers endears you to them. It’s particularly ill-advised, most of the time, when you are aiming at earning credibility. And far from being a secret route to success for introverts, as championed by Dan Rosenfeld, I believe introverts have special reasons to hold back from accepting this advice.

You may be wondering: What about the personal stories I share from time to time in these newsletters? They’re different, for two reasons. First, my anecdotes don’t try to position me as “one down” from readers – an important element of the vulnerability approach. Second, fleshed-out anecdotes are simply an ingredient of good nonfiction writing. They make abstract ideas three-dimensional. They have persuasive power. They keep readers engaged. They help drive home the reality that what is being written about isn’t random AI slop or hot air, but concepts that matter.

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Introvert Superpower #4: Keeping Secrets

Although Goodall had no academic credentials, Leakey felt she was well-suited to study wild chimpanzees, who interested him because of their close genetic ties to humans. He obtained funding for this project from an Illinois entrepreneur, and off Goodall went into the field with just her intrepid mother and a local man who served as a cook and guard.

At first, the chimps ran away whenever they spotted her. For months she sat silently on a hilltop, making herself small and unobtrusive, so that the animals would become accustomed to her as an unintimidating presence. Gradually she moved closer to them, until one day a chimp whom she privately called David Greybeard took a banana directly from her hand. From then on, she related to them as a trusted neighbor, getting to know each creature’s individual temperament and carefully observing interactions among the group.

Received wisdom at the time had it that tool making was an ability that distinguished humans from all the rest of the animal kingdom. However, Goodall saw her friend David Greybeard and other chimps use sticks as tools in fishing termites out of their mound. This was a groundbreaking discovery, later confirmed by others. She also observed a complete range of emotions expressed by the chimps among one another, including tenderness, solidarity, irritation, gaiety and aggression. Again this went against the prevailing view of such animals as driven only by instincts.

These observations were possible only because with introverted patience and unthreatening stillness she had insinuated herself into their world. The natural interactions of the chimps in their home environment didn’t show up clearly in manmade settings like a lab or a zoo. Just as important was her ability to trust and report precisely what she saw rather than what others more educated than her might have believed. Personally, she thrived out in the bush, lamenting the noise and chaos when she returned to cities and so-called civilization. Alone, she found spiritual sustenance and peace in nature.

“The longer I spent on my own, the more I became one with the magic forest that was now my home. Inanimate objects developed their own identities and, like my favorite saint, Francis of Assisi, I named them and greeted them as friends. ‘Good morning, Peak,’ I would say as I arrived there each morning; ‘Hello, Stream,’ when I collected my water; ‘Oh, Wind, for Heaven’s sake, calm down’ as it howled overhead, ruining my chance of locating the chimps. In particular I became intensely aware of the being-ness of trees. The feel of rough sun-warmed bark of an ancient forest giant, or the cool, smooth skin of a young and eager sapling, gave me a strange, intuitive sense of the sap as it was sucked up by unseen roots and drawn up to the very tips of the branches, high overhead. I loved to sit in the forest when it was raining, and to hear the pattering of the drops on the leaves and feel utterly enclosed in a dim twilight world of greens and browns and soft gray air.”

Later in life, Goodall became a noted public speaker, advocating for conservation or restoration of wild habitats and for ethical treatment of animals. Like Susan B. Anthony and Eleanor Roosevelt, she gave lectures around the world even though this went against her temperament. Her causes and knowing she could have an impact on others’ thinking mattered so much to her. In her book Reason for Hope, she noted that lecturing to crowds depleted her, but having emotional contact with individuals in the audience after her talk would begin to fill her energy bank back up. Many introverts with a lesser global profile would find that pattern familiar.

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But hold on: Higher earnings may not mean much when accompanied by outsized spending. And in the spending department, introverts may have a meaningful edge.

According to the personality research firm NERIS Analytics, documented spending differences between extroverts and introverts include:

• Extroverts are more likely than introverts to spend impulsively.

• Introverts are more likely than extroverts to put their money into savings.

• When asked “Are you frugal?” introverts are more likely to agree.

• Introverts have an easier time sticking to a budget.

• Extroverts are more likely to view shopping as an enjoyable social excursion, while introverts tend to view shopping as a practical necessity.

According to many financial advisors, introverts are also less motivated by the excitement of risky investments, which keeps them from experiencing cataclysmic losses in bear markets. Other observers point to the savings from introverts having an internal focus and not caring as much as extroverts what others think of them. Introverts are less likely to yearn for the latest luxury items, show-off brands or impress-the-neighbors technology. One study noted that shopping in a group – which introverts would rarely do, given the choice – tended to increase the number of items purchased.

Blogger Michaela Chung put it this way at her Introvert Spring website: “We’re happier ordering pizza for a movie night with our bestie than going out and dropping $30 to see a movie in the theater. Because we’re less likely to go out a lot, we automatically save more money than our extroverted pals who might spend every evening out at pubs or parties. This doesn’t mean we never go out, just that we have more money for social events when we choose to participate in them.”

Now here is my take, a list of expenses that might appear on an extrovert’s credit card statement that a typical introvert would never voluntarily spend money on.

• Karaoke bar rental fee for a reunion of 20 old friends

• Tanning sessions prior to a public-speaking gig

• A painted portrait of themselves to pass down to the next generation

• Fancy running gear branded with the logo of a running club

• Cover charges for crowded “see and be seen” nightclubs

• Multiple streaming services so as to keep up with popular culture

Perhaps that list is a bit over the top, but in truth I can point to many introvert-related spending choices I make that happen to save me money. I don’t buy many clothes, for instance. Not only do I attend vastly fewer social gatherings than the average person, I choose clothes not according to their “look at me!” qualities but in order to be minimally socially acceptable. My taste in cars likewise tends to be utilitarian, although I’d rather drive a vehicle that seems cute to me than one I consider ugly. On HGTV’s house-hunting shows, many couples describe needing expansive outdoor and indoor spaces for entertaining, which also wasn’t a factor when my husband and I looked for a house that would suit us.

It’s not that I think about the Joneses and turn my back on them; it’s more that consumption options intended to compete with, impress or outdo others don’t really register in my mind. And I suspect that by caring less about others’ judgments, many introverts make divergent spending decisions from those of extroverts not only when it comes to major expenses but also with respect to a zillion other daily items. Subtle differences, when multiplied, can add up significantly.

Indeed, a 2016 study of more than 76,000 bank transactions by University of Cambridge psychologists in England revealed telling differences in spending on certain categories of expenses by extroverts and introverts. If you look at the middle column of this research report’s Table 1, you’ll see that extroverts spent more than introverts on travel, toys and hobbies, jewelry, gambling and pub meals, among other matters, while extroverts spent less than introverts on accounting fees, health and life insurance, home insurance, gardening and books. Interesting, eh? I would love to see more research along these lines.

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I found more wisdom and helpful perspectives in the comments than in the article.

Unfortunately, the Times reporter fell into several common traps of media coverage on this topic. For example, the first paragraph of the social ties article set up a contrast between “people who have strong relationships” and those who suffer from “chronic loneliness.” This duality is false. People who have close friends and active family ties can still suffer from loneliness – for instance, if their spouse of many years has died. And on the flip side, as many of the commenters emphasized, folks who socialize very little do not necessarily suffer from loneliness. The article failed to explain how such non-socializers could be physically and mentally healthy.

Some of the commenters complained that the very topic of the social-ties article exemplified a bias against introverts. Their tone indicated that the article was just one more instance of a long, tiresome and widespread campaign to persuade introverts to join in on social activities that they didn’t enjoy. The most highly rated reader comment declared, “Please stop telling introverts how to exist. Solitude is not a negative choice for us. It’s completely positive.” Lars in Sweden remarked, “I sometimes wonder if the constant pitching of extrovertism is a way to say: Be superficial! Have fun! Don’t bother with real and important questions, it just makes you boring!”

A man from Australia pointed out that all the studies cited in this tide of articles didn’t seem to look at extroverts separately from introverts. Was that methodology valid? “A study needs to connect longevity with the type of social lifestyle that causes stress, which is different for different people,” he suggested. A skeptical reader from Connecticut added, “It seems only extroverts need this constant affirmation that their social networking is healthier than taking a long meditative walk in the forest.”

Other commenters took issue with specific points in the piece.

The reporter claimed that “loneliness is inherently a stressful experience.” A critical reader pointed out that the article “completely fails to acknowledge the stress that we introverts feel from more social interaction than we’re comfortable with. By urging more socialization, there’s the demeaning subtext that the preference for solitude is somehow not normal.” Someone from the west coast argued, “Introverts deal with stress by taking time out from social functions. If that keeps us calm, then we should do that instead of going to another loud party.” Another said, “I have always been a loner. That is what makes me the happiest and most content.”

A psychology professor quoted in the piece proclaimed “four to six close relationships” as ideal for avoiding pitfalls that researchers say reduce longevity. This prompted a reader to joke, “Oh my! I need four to six close relationships to live to a ripe old age? Let me run down to Costco and buy the bulk pack.” Another introvert suggested, “‘One or two friends’ sounds less stressful.”

Another factor cited was that social relationships motivate us to take better care of our health. Yet a couple of dozen introverts testified in the comments that Covid-19 quarantines had brought them a greater sense of calm than they’d felt in years. Others agreed that only with the relative solitude of the pandemic did they realize how much pressures to socialize drained them. These introverts were counterclaiming that solitude, not social connection, set their baseline for better health.

And finally, according to experts cited in the article, frequent contact with strangers or loose acquaintances can provide beneficial mental stimulation. Really, for everyone? some commenters questioned. On this, a Ph.D from California shared, “I find it very, very stressful to be in social situations for more than a few minutes. It zaps my energy, increases anxiety that isn’t normally there and likely raises my blood pressure. I prefer one-on-one interactions with little noise and most prefer time with animals.” Another reader probably was not exaggerating when he said, “I would rather knock a year or two off my life than spend an hour or two with people I can’t stand.”

I don’t believe a single person responded in the comments, “Thanks for telling me about this research! I will change my lifestyle accordingly.” For me, that was a remarkable sign of how well we introverts can resist propaganda in favor of what we know to be true, from the certainty of our inner being. It also shows how extensively well-educated introverts like New York Times readers have taken in the affirming messages about introversion spread by Susan Cain in her best-selling book Quiet and others. Now if only medical, academic and media experts could also take in respect for human differences…

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What interested me most when I finally read the book recently was not the details of his clandestine adulteries so much as the nuances of privacy in the life of this world-famous British writer.

David Cornwell – Le Carré’s real-life name – was an introvert who had the ability to be exceptionally charming in company. This combination of traits made him very well suited for the unspecified work he did for British Intelligence prior to his breakout success as an author. After all, the spy business runs on being able to convincingly play various deceptive roles while keeping certain things to oneself.

Like many writers, Cornwell cherished being left alone and working alone. In a 2017 “60 Minutes” TV segment on him, he told his interviewer that he loved living by the sea in Cornwall, about as far west from London as possible, because his neighbors “don’t give a damn for celebrity, if they even know what I do,” he said. “Not a head turns in the street when I walk by, and that’s enormously soothing.” In the barnlike studio on his property, he would spend mornings alone with his characters and his words. He walked in the afternoons and edited his work in the evening. And when traveling to soak in foreign atmosphere for his books, he deliberately did so alone, maximizing his opportunities to observe.

Yet when he hung out with friends, he became a “social dazzler,” in the words of a writer who profiled him for Vanity Fair in 1989. A gifted mimic, he would spin stories that kept a roomful of dinner companions rapt. That ability to keep others enthralled probably went back to his unusual childhood, as the son of a roguish con man whose escapades had the family living like royalty one week and like paupers the next. As a boy, David Cornwell learned to cover for his father with fluent lies, plausible excuses and clever compartmentalization.

His exuberant social persona coexisted with barriers protective of his inner self. As reported in Sisman’s book, here is how that worked for Nicholas Shakespeare, a friend who was a generation younger than Cornwell:

“Though the two men became very close, and remained friendly until the end, David was not someone whom he felt able to ring up and have a chat with. While very open with him when they were together, David was at the same time immensely private, and guarded his privacy to a ruthless degree, frequently changing his telephone numbers to exclude unwanted callers.”

What had me scratching my head after finishing Sisman’s exposé, published after Cornwell’s death, was the earlier tug-of-war collusion between Cornwell and Sisman, which proceeded as follows. Cornwell agreed in writing to cooperate with Sisman on a biography that the latter researched and then published in 2015. In the course of his research, Sisman inadvertently learned about several of the affairs that Cornwell had conducted in secret. When Sisman pursued the clues that had turned up, the women involved initially talked, then later clammed up, apparently on orders from Cornwell. He thus left such stories out of his Le Carré biography. After the deaths of both Cornwell and his loyal wife Jane, Sisman corrected the record by chronicling a number of Cornwell’s infatuations, ruses and betrayals in a second book.

What puzzles me is, first, why Cornwell agreed to cooperate with the biography at all, knowing that it would probably be published during his lifetime. Perhaps Cornwell believed he was so skilled at deception and concealment that he was confident he could control his biographer’s narrative. And second, why did Sisman agree to publish the original biography with such significant omissions that he felt duty-bound to supplement it with The Secret Life of John Le Carré later? I did not find Sisman’s justifications in the corrective volume convincing.

Aside from those psychological and ethical issues, I came away from this topic appreciating another variation on the theme of how introverts manage to be in the public eye while remaining fundamentally private. David Cornwell rationed his participation in interviews, but he performed amiably and persuasively when they took place. Wary about being perceived as part of the Establishment or as a participant in literary rankings, he turned down a knightship and refused to let his books be submitted for the prestigious Booker Prize. He broadcast the image of a cozy and faithful marriage while his loyal, hoodwinked wife not only typed up every line he wrote but also shielded him from interruptions while he connived to meet mistress after mistress. David Cornwell made partial peace with being a public figure, but secretly and privately he lived his life his own way.

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Without such preparation, I would umm and uhh, failing to recall what I knew and feeling inadequate rather than competent and in charge. There are reasons for that. Introverts generally don’t perform well or feel at ease in situations where we are totally on the spot. We’re the tongue-tied ones who think up the perfect verbal comeback hours later, not in the moment. Yet by rehearsing or by assembling ingredients for a performance, we can shine. Here’s why.

1. Internal-first preference. When allowed to choose, introverts would rather mull something over at length and speak only after working it out. Extroverts thrive on thinking out loud, exploring ideas messily in ways they might not later want to stand behind. For extroverts, the interaction is the crucial part, while introverts care about coming up with what we really, firmly think. That takes longer.

2. Spontaneity stressors. Situations like an on-air interview or a live interactive talk need to proceed smoothly, with few pauses and no silences. When unrehearsed and completely spontaneous, this is not a rhythm that suits introverts. The same goes for party chatter, which is supposed to be fast, bright and unstopping. Insincerity there is perfectly OK, which introverts tend not to like. The presence of an audience who might be judging the speakers adds a further layer of pressure for introverts.

3. Esteem for excellence. Introverts value clear expression and in-depth meaning. Extroverts might put more emphasis on someone’s overall impact, overlooking sloppy thinking or superficial comments. For an extrovert, keeping the energy going might count as a valued element of excellence, whereas for the introvert, the content ideally should be coherent and worthy of being cast in stone. I remember one National Speakers Association presentation I attended, where almost everyone in the audience rose applauding enthusiastically and I caught the eye of someone else still sitting, like me. “What did he say?” I asked that person, probably also an introvert. She shrugged. “No idea.”

Preparing or practicing can help introverts without leading to a performance that sounds pre-packaged or scripted. Think of it as a kind of semi-spontaneity, where half of the contents are collected just off-stage, ready to be placed into a flow in the moment.

If you’re an introvert and have the courage to improvise on stage in front of an audience, I salute you. I’ve taken a comedy-style improv workshop and improvised musically with a friend, but I would put those activities into the category of, in the words of Outside Magazine editor Kevin Sintumuang, what “confuses my algorithm.”

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“I have been asked throughout my life: What are you hiding? I don’t know what I am hiding, and the more I try to deny it, the less trustworthy people find me. My mother used to comment on my stealthiness to our guests. A woman in charge of admission at the public bathhouse often confronted me, asking what I was hiding from her. Nothing, I said, and she would say she could tell from my eyes that I was lying.

“Reticence is a natural state. It is not hiding. People don’t show themselves equally and easily to all.” —Dear Friend, from My Life I Write to You in Your Life

As Li attests, reticence is not a deliberate act or strategy but a natural expression of a reserved temperament. Yet somehow it triggers suspicions, anger, hostility and accusations in some others. Why? Why do some people react as if they’ve been insulted, tricked or threatened by someone like Yiyun Li who is simply being herself? “Why are you so quiet?” is one way this reaction commonly gets expressed, when the tone is not curious but resentful or aggrieved. From the perspective of the reticent person, taking offense that way can seem unhinged. After all, how does my personality harm you?

Reasons for taking offense at reticence

Social psychologists cite three factors driving this dynamic.

1. The norm of reciprocity. When someone offers information, a gesture or an emotion, we are supposed to respond in kind. That might be a hello, a welcoming smile or observations about the setting. For an introvert who is slow to warm up to people and who dislikes fakery or small talk, it may be hard to do what’s expected. An exchange that should have proceeded routinely then gets disrupted, and the first person feels rejected, ignored or snubbed.

2. Uncertainty and projection. When a reticent person doesn’t respond according to social protocol, the situation becomes ambiguous and fraught. Oh, they don’t like me? Oh, they’re being snobbish? Oh, who do they think they are? Speculations rush into that void. The more expressive person projects, filling in the empty space with their own fears and preoccupations. In Yiyun Li’s example, the bathhouse attendant read into Li’s posture, facial expression and behavior things that Li never intended.

3. Uncompliant = not controlled. Someone who doesn’t respond as expected can come across as resistant, defiant and a threat to authority. They are not playing the social game properly. A higher-status person, feeling indignant or angry at perceived insubordination, may try to force the restrained other into line.

We need to be suspicious of certain adjectives that get applied to introverts who simply don’t respond as extroverts expect: sullen; arrogant; unreadable; cold; stubborn; self-centered; disengaged. Perhaps they are just processing the scene around them internally or carrying out their preference for quiet. Intentionally or not, a silent, taciturn or reserved person may also be wielding a quiet form of dignity and power.

If this reaction comes your way

If someone takes offense at your reticence, remember first that you haven’t necessarily done anything wrong. Someone got triggered by the way you are, that’s all.

Develop a comeback if you feel you need to de-escalate the conflict. Subtly remind the other person, calmly or with a smile, that you haven’t meant to provoke them. You merely have a personality that they find uncomfortable.

“Still waters run deep, my grandfather always said,” you might try. Or “Quality, not quantity, is my watchword.” Or “When I have something to say, you’ll be the first to know.”

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In other words, if you asked the average person to point out either a stranger or a known colleague who is confident, they’re highly likely to indicate someone who acts like an extrovert. This follows from scads of stereotypes that pile praise upon extroverts, including these conventional indicators of confidence:

• Verbal fluency. Someone whose words flow easily, up to and including the master improvisational bullshitter, is taken as more confident than someone whose words come out with pauses to express ideas with precision and thoughtfulness.

• Initiative. A confident person is supposedly the one who steps forward, volunteers and leads others – not someone who stays studiously silent.

• Expressiveness. Animated gestures, words and actions that strongly convey emotions are another element in this cluster of confidence markers. Restrained or reserved people don’t fit this image.

• Comfort with attention. According to common pigeonholes, confident people take up lots of space, enjoy being seen or heard and become positively memorable without much effort. Less confident people can be found in the back of the room, removing themselves from any spotlight.

These conventional benchmarks for confidence overlook or misinterpret our quirks and strengths as introverts. Most importantly, confidence can be an internal characteristic that comes out only in subtle ways. For instance, think of an environmental expert who stands up at the end of a public meeting dominated by emotional testimony that’s in favor of a new city ordinance. So quietly that she has to be asked to repeat herself closer to the mic, she explains that the measure failed when tried in Houston, Nashville and St. Cloud, Minnesota. She knows her stuff, and listeners can tell that she does. She has rock-solid inner confidence even though she may not be an impressive speaker, charismatic, assertive, a born leader or comfortable in the large group.

Introverts’ confidence can also show up in personal decisions they make that go against the crowd, without fuss or fanfare. I am thinking of the people who had the clear moral compass to refuse invitations to hobnob with sex offender Jeffrey Epstein and his crowd, when so many other movers and shakers fell over themselves to join his bacchanalian games. Or consider the successful person who chooses not to carry a smartphone, believing he can more easily reach his goals without constant connectivity and interruptions.

Confidence can also involve maintaining boundaries, tolerating anonymity, remaining calm during conflicts or persevering in private ways. Picture someone who knows how not to be fooled but doesn’t go out of their way to flaunt their knowledge in public. The introvert who doesn’t perform wouldn’t be picked out of a crowd as the confident one – and is happy to let showboaters bask in the attention.

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It would have been nice to have an older sibling or friend to give me a heads up about how things were going to change as I grew and as my body changed. How people, especially girls, were going to change and evolve too, why they became bitches. But I didn’t. At one point (either middle school or high school) my mom handed me The Life Cycle Library for Young People. Published in 1969, I can only assume it was given to her by her parents and was also the extent of her sex education. It did not quite jibe with what I was seeing every morning before school on MTV and VH1. It did little to explain any of the habits of dating for a young girl in the late 90’s-early 00’s. I did wind up making new friends, but this trend of me finding out what was cool or how things worked after everyone else seemed to already just know continued, and it continued to be mortifying.

But when you are bullied, when your closest friends suddenly cast you out and always seem to be in possession of knowledge that you just can’t seem to figure out, when your peers all seem to surpass your understanding of the world and you are constantly that lost puppy playing catch up to understand what the hell you are supposed to say, or do, or wear (and constantly doing all of those things “wrong”), you are bound to reach a breaking point. Mine came somewhere in junior or senior year of high school. This is when I discovered Teen Vogue and a world outside of Summerville, South Carolina. Because I spent so much time in my room, alone, and so much time reading, both books and magazines, I began to read two very different things with lessons that forever changed my approach to myself and my life.

In Teen Vogue I learned that all of the clothes that the girls in my town wore were wrong (sorry, girls, but they were) and on me, they looked especially wrong or I just didn’t do them right. Pearls, polo shirts, anything khaki, anything Vera Bradly or Lily Pulitzer, Sperry’s boat shoes…please, God, just burn it all. But Boho Chic with a hint of the now grown up and in college Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen attitude, yes please. A little Sex and the City? OK! Did I wear stilettos to high school? Sure did. Did I get made fun of still? Sure did. But this time, I was proud of it because I finally knew why I was getting made fun of. It wasn’t because I was behind and didn’t know what the latest trends were, it was because I was ahead. I was wearing what the fashion students in New York City were wearing, but go on, enjoy your overpriced Lacoste shirts.

I also read On the Road by Jack Kerouac. That book did something for me that was so necessary and life changing that I will forever stand behind its value in the world. It taught me that there were people in the world who value intelligence. Whose entire existence can rely on the need to sit and talk. About life, about books, about music and emotions. Not sports. Not Jesus. But everything else under the sun that is important to the rest of humanity. Traveling and meeting people who live differently than you do can be educational and can shift your perspective on the world, and most importantly, shifting your perspective on the world is the only way that you can ever live in the world. The only way that you can coexist with people who do not fit into the little boxes that you are used to. Those people are beautiful and wonderful and valuable, just like you. You, who also do not have to fit into those little boxes.

This was also when the movie Rent came out, and that was also monumentally life changing. Rent told me where to go to find my people. Teen Vogue said New York City for fashion and career. Rent said New York City to meet artists and musicians and the weirdos that Kerouac was talking about when he wrote, “The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.”

I moved to New York at 19 and found my people — the ones who wanted to sit and talk about everything that mattered, who didn’t care what you were wearing as long as you had something to say. But here’s the thing I didn’t figure out until much later: it wasn’t that I had finally found the right group to belong to. The weirdos in New York didn’t accept me despite my differences — they made the whole concept of fitting in completely beside the point. Nobody was keeping score. Nobody cared. There were no rules to decode because nobody was interested in rules. There was just conversation, and books, and people who thought deeply about things, and it turned out I had been training for exactly this my entire life without knowing it.

The girl on the library couch wasn’t broken. She wasn’t behind. She wasn’t doing it wrong. She was building something — quietly, alone, one book at a time — and all those years of not fitting in, of retreating into her own head, of being the sad lost puppy following people who didn’t want her? That wasn’t falling behind. That was the head start.

Margaret Cioffe spent her childhood on library couches and her twenties in Brooklyn. She’s been sober for five years and is writing a recovery memoir called Everything is Gray — because black and white thinking never did her any favors. She writes at margaretcioffe.substack.com.

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However, in Andrew Miller’s 2015 novel, The Crossing, almost no one knows what to make of Maud Stamp, an imperturbable woman who is a brilliant, reserved scientist and an avid sailor. Others in her world project many kinds of meanings onto her, viewing her as either alluring or suspicious and disquieting. The novel doesn’t make this point, but I believe it’s clear that they would not regard her this way had she been a man.

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I’m revisiting past musings after encountering research reports that set out a fascinating scientific context for the contrasting well-being of introverts and extroverts. Here are four sets of findings that, taken together, explain why the question of who is happier, extroverts or introverts, really does turn on how one defines happiness or well-being.

1. Introverts prefer low-arousal states. Researchers have found that for extroverts, the picture of happiness as someone being exuberantly excited or bursting with delight is highly motivating, whereas for introverts, the ideal emotional state tends to be calm, peaceful and relaxed.

2. Solitude is one key tool introverts use to regulate their level of arousal. Whereas extroverts seek out energetic social interaction as a way to reach their ideal emotional “up,” introverts create opportunities for solitude in order to return to the more serene state we prefer. For introverts, stillness is regenerative.

3. Introverts often pursue meaning rather than high-arousal states. According to Jungian commentator Elaine Schallock, introverts choose their values and life direction using an “inside out” approach. We create or find a compass within ourselves, placing a high importance on reaching satisfaction according to our self-definition. This matters much more to us than transitory emotional excitement.

4. Much scientific research on happiness uses extroverts’ definition of happiness. Psychologists have tended to ignore the appeal of tranquil contentment as a motivator and instead measure contentment by a person’s degree of high-arousal elation or joy. Perhaps they take it as self-evident that anyone would prefer to experience highly pleasurable states. On the contrary, however, many introverts do not pursue extroverts’ happy highs, preferring a neutral mood that is more conducive to reflection and to our involvement in meaningful pursuits.

All of this goes back to a key distinction I explained in my 2023 post on Finland coming out on top as the world’s happiest country six years in a row. On the one hand, there’s the “hedonic” concept of happiness, in which the happiest person has the highest proportion of supremely pleasurable or delighted experiences. This fits with what motivates extroverts, and this is what most psychologists measure as happiness.

On the other hand is the calmer, more neutral experience of contentment, meaningfulness and satisfaction praised by Aristotle and the Stoics in ancient Greece as the aim of life. They called it eudaimonia, which is often translated as “well-being.” When introverts gravitate more to this concept as their ideal, they come out as less happy by the hedonic measure of happiness – an unfair conclusion because it’s driven by a one-sided definition of happiness more than by objective, independent data.

What’s new here is the research that exposes an academic bias in favor of the type of happiness that favors extroverts. If you define happiness in terms of excited, hyperactive moments, this will make it seem introverts don’t want to be happy. That’s wrong. Introverts are not less happy than extroverts. We have a different, comfortable and quieter route to achieving happiness.

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Seeking YOUR introvert insights

In a new series of posts, I would like to feature your insights and experiences related to being an introvert or dealing with an introverted spouse, child, employee, boss, neighbor, etc. The more specific you are about the setting and the relationship dynamics involved, the better.

Please send your essay/article/post to innies@yudkin.com.

Target length is 700 to 1500 words. See the first post in this series at https://www.introvertupthink.com/p/reader-stories-1. If I use your post, I will of course credit you with a byline and a brief bio.

Thank you in advance for sharing your story.

- Marcia

Since all three of those urban walkers were introverts, I had to take back my assumption that introverts couldn’t thrive in a world-class metropolis. Instead, I cast a clear-eyed look at the features these “Best Cities” lists considered suitable for introverts. See what you think of these criteria as I catalog them.

A 2022 article on the gaming website Mr Q had me scratching my head as it measured suitability for introverts by the number of remote jobs, average wifi speed, number of outdoor trails and parks, museums, libraries and theaters and its “Happiness Index,” among other criteria. Perhaps introverts do gravitate more to remote jobs, but by definition those could be headquartered hundreds or thousands of miles away from the target city. And I’m not sure I understand why introverts would care more than extroverts about cultural amenities, wifi or the supposed happy vibes of a place.

A 2025 ranking on a home loan website similarly ranked cities for introverts according to criteria like green spaces, libraries, safety and average happiness. Again, though, except for the libraries, wouldn’t those features matter across the board, not only for introverts? The introduction to this site’s rankings claimed to measure how conducive cities are to tranquility and reflection. Introverts, they say, seek “peaceful cities that prioritize safety, mental wellbeing and clean, healthy surroundings.” Okay, but here I once more wasn’t impressed with the website’s quantifications.

A digital nomad’s frankly subjective 2025 take on cities she had traveled to made much more sense to me. She defined “introvert-friendly” locations as those with plenty of mind-one’s-own-business coffee shops in areas where people aren’t overly curious about strangers and where serenity in nature is easily accessible close by. For her, this included Asheville, North Carolina, Minneapolis-St. Paul in Minnesota, Santa Fe and Albuquerque, New Mexico – and New York, New York. Hear her out:

“The most populated city in the U.S. also happens to be very much a solo city, and everyone is usually doing their own thing and keeping to themselves. So if you’re looking to go about your day without the awkward small talk, you’re in good company. You’ll blend right in with the crowd and remain anonymous wherever you go.”

On the other hand, another subjective roundup of best locations for introverts, from 2022, placed a high priority on low population density, which ruled out New York City and ruled in Portland, Oregon and Nashville, Tennessee. Other criteria mentioned by this writer included a slower-paced lifestyle, quiet streets and plenty of things to do solo or in small groups.

From my brief survey of best-for-introverts recommendations, I feel the no-numbers articles offer more ideas worth pondering than the rankings that purport to be objective. Probably it’s just common sense: To find comfortable spots for settling down, consider what qualities matter to you, visit the top candidates if you can, pay attention to your reactions and remember that someone else’s enthusiasm, even if backed up by data, may not mean much for your satisfaction.

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“Was I nicer than other people at the restaurant? I was. Was it genuine? That depends on what you mean by ‘genuine.’ I’d kind of grown this personality, or I thought I had… Almost thirty years later, I can still feel the waiterly poses in my body. I can feel my weight shift, my head tilt. I pause when I hit a mark and wait for the customer to absorb its shape and meaning. Shift, land. Shift, land.”

Bursch didn’t know much about fancy serving norms, so she tried extra-hard to be pleasant to customers. It worked: The diners liked her, and the restaurant kept her on even though she couldn’t name the different types of oysters or smoothly remove the cork from a Côtes du Rhône bottle. Even now she can’t say whether her waiterly behavior was the real Heather or not.

Bursch‘s essay meshes nicely with a theme I’ve been turning over in my mind lately. In a culture where introverts often get judged as abnormal, innumerable introverts feel under pressure to act socially smooth, talkative and upbeat, especially at school or at work. Is that kind of acting always bad? In some instances, it amounts to simply learning a skill, like cooking an omelet or driving a car, that the person can use or not. You can learn to approach strangers, for instance, to say “Glad to meet you” as if you mean it or to keep silly conversations going longer than the average tennis volley.

In other instances, such acting involves taking on an extroverted role that becomes physically and mentally exhausting for the typical introvert the longer and deeper the act goes on. Continuing in that direction, it amounts to pretending to be someone one is not, fooling strangers, coworkers and acquaintances about one’s actual personality and preferences.

On the one hand, I remember many evenings I spent at networking events when I lived in Boston and was building a business. When I went up to someone standing alone, introduced myself and asked what they did, I didn’t feel I was faking being someone I wasn’t.

Approaching a stranger was a stretch for me, but I genuinely enjoyed one-on-one conversations where I might learn something or begin to make a friend. I regarded it as doing something grownup and productive that was initially out of my comfort zone. Heather Bursch’s extra-nice efforts at Balthazar seem to me to fall into this category of skill learning, too.

Note that I didn’t pursue an encounter by cracking jokes, breaking into a chummy group or chitchatting about the Red Sox, any of which would be highly uncharacteristic of me. After I outstretched a hand, the other person was conversing with the real me.

On the other hand, I recently came across a couple of blog posts where introverts described themselves as “masking” throughout their daily lives. As I understand it, this is a term often used by high-functioning autistic people for their exhausting efforts from dawn to bedtime to come across as socially “normal” in order to be more accepted. To understand better the difference between the mild stretching of adapting and the high stress of masking, and how this might apply to introverts, I read up on “masking” and the pain that accompanies such a long-lasting, comprehensive type of pretending.

Based on my research, here are some criteria that can help you decide whether a certain level of pretense should best be understood as adapting or masking.

1. Is the behavior motivated by fear and judgment? People who mask typically are afraid of being stigmatized and excluded. They resent the implication that their natural manner of being is judged negatively, yet they try to “pass.” On the other hand, those adapting may be making a strategic, situational choice so as to fit in briefly or achieve a specific aim, like impressing a hiring committee. Adaptation is more like dressing up for an occasion than like censoring or suppressing disparaged habits, inclinations and desires.

2. Is there hiding of one’s true nature? Masking feels like a massive, far-reaching mismatch between how one is acting and how one really is. One’s authentic self disappears beneath the mask. Daily masking thus can involve a distressing compromise or loss of identity. In contrast, adapting involves minor changes that add to one’s behavioral repertoire – not concealment or disguise. You’re still you, though perhaps in a different mode, the way we all learn to speak differently with friends than with teachers or employers.

3. How mentally demanding is the faking? Masking requires relentless, constant attention to the pretense: Am I making enough eye contact? Here I need to smile and there I had better nod, etc. Ever-needed coping mechanisms tend to lead to exhaustion, despair and burnout. Adaptation, however, involves the kind of attentive effort required for any new learning, but once learned, the new behavior may no longer demand constant self-monitoring. Therefore, adapting isn’t anywhere as fatiguing as masking, though it still can cause a need for recovery time.

4. Is the behavior change demeaning or empowering? Does the mental tape run along the lines of I’m really no good without pretending or With this acting, I can get where I want to go? Masking feels less like a choice than like a necessity, while adapting feels more voluntary and intentional.

Most introverts make at least some behavioral compromises in comparison with choices they might make in a world that accepted and accommodated the full range of personality differences. Choices that can be described as adaptations carry much less danger for the person’s physical and mental well-being than those that reach the level of masking.

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A memoir about watching alone for wildfires in a remote tower has an even more specific, hallowed heritage. On the Road author Jack Kerouac, poet Gary Snyder and environmental pioneer Edward Abbey all were strongly influenced by summers they spent as fire lookouts in the 1950s or 1960s. Because mere miles from my home in Goshen, Massachusetts stands a fire tower whose 65-feet-high iron steps I’ve climbed for a view of five states, I’ve had a vivid mental picture of what manning such a structure amidst forest, forest and more forest would entail. Days and nights alone scanning the horizon for smoke. Unrelieved immersion in wilderness. No one to talk to for the whole season except when calling in a fire on one’s battery-powered two-way radio.

Trina Moyles’ 2021 memoir about being a fire lookout for a couple of summers in northern Alberta, Canada, didn’t match my envisioning of the isolation of this job.

First, Moyles’ setup included a multitude of creature comforts, such as a solar fridge, solar oven and propane heater. For communication from her tower, she had an Internet connection, cellphone and radio. Indeed, she had a radio check-in call with headquarters every night at 7 pm. An affectionate dog provided daily companionship. A helicopter replenished her food supplies once a month. She became friends with other lookouts (all introverts, of course), occasionally had fire crews bivouacking with her for weeks, and even had her parents, niece and nephew come visit with her the second summer. Although most days she fulfilled her fire watching duties alone, her situation wasn’t the extreme solitude conjured up for me in the subtitle of her book, Lookout: Love, Solitude, and Searching for Wildfire in the Boreal Forest.

The book has many vivid moments, describing both the lookout routine and dramatic events like watching lightning strikes and encountering a grizzly sow and her cubs. I turned down close to a dozen page corners for passages I wanted to reread, like this one, providing journalistic perspective:

“Every wildfire has a story.

Hunters, or day hikers, carelessly leave a campfire to smolder out, but the wind picks up and sends sparks flying into the bush. A brush pile, left unattended, smolders in a farmer’s field and spreads into nearby grass. A woman tosses a still-lit cigarette out of the window of her car into the ditch. A father and son enjoy an afternoon of driving their ATV in a wildland recreational park then decide to go off-roading, and the extreme heat from the engine catalyzes a flame in the tall, dry grass.”

There’s vivid description of nature in the book, as well, such as:

“The smoke column braided itself into a horse’s tail. The fire wanted to run, but she probably wouldn’t go far. Although the fire hazard was creeping up again, the earth was sopping wet, a far cry from the May conditions when the forest was a matchbox waiting to be struck. I imagined all the tiny fire-loving creatures, including the fire beetle, scuttling towards the wildfire, eager to lay their eggs in the charred bark of the burnt trees. In a matter of only weeks, fireweed and other pioneer species would germinate in the ashes of the burn. Deer, moose, elk and bears would come to forage on the new green growth. And somewhere deep in the charred floor, the nitrogen-rich ash would fertilize the opened coniferous seeds waiting to grow again.”

You may also appreciate some of her personal reflections:

“What was it about being the first to observe nature in action? Witnessing what the forest had done for millennia? It made me feel small and insignificant, and yet also like a quiet hero. I was proud to be a small part of the collective effort to spot the beginnings of wildfire, joining the legacy of the women and men who watched before. It was lonely and thankless work, and in the moment of reporting a smoke there was no one with whom I could share the glory – no one but myself. But it didn’t make me sad; instead, I felt powerful and connected and deeply useful.”

In short, Lookout is in some ways a wonderful read. Just don’t expect it to illuminate much about the mysteries, pleasures and perils of solitude. I came away realizing what I should have understood before I read: What you count as solitude depends on your experience, expectations and points of comparison.

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Without saying a word, I eased myself off the picnic bench and looked around for the party host to tell her I was leaving. Not finding her, I let myself out and walked home. There I sent an email that the host would presumably read the next day, thanking her and saying I’d looked for her but didn’t see her when I left.

What I did goes by several names: an Irish goodbye, a French exit, and perhaps also a Dutch dipout, a Samoan sayonara. According to etiquette experts, a vanishing act like this from a small gathering is discourteous. For an introvert whose social battery is nearing the empty mark, however, a faux pas feels far preferable to the drama and pressure that would probably follow an announcement to the group that they were leaving early.

Two days after the party, a neighbor accosted my husband while he was running. “Is Marcia OK? We suddenly realized she was gone and didn’t know why,” she said with concern. Clearly I needed some tips on the art of the graceful goodbye, and maybe you do, too.

Why the awkward evasiveness?

Introverts dislike having the spotlight shine on us when we’re doing something socially frowned upon in order to be more comfortable. We also dislike confronting social pressure that implies disapproval for our preferences. At that party, I certainly did not want to bring up the often pooh-poohed topic of introvert overload or blame anyone else for my own discomfort.

After reading up on what sociability experts and other introverts say about this predicament, I hit on a few strategies that may make sense.

First, we can set the stage ahead of time with the host of a gathering for a no-fault, no-mess early exit. A candid way to do this is to tell the host, one-on-one, “You know, I sometimes get overwhelmed, overloaded or uncomfortable in a group, and I may need to duck out early.” Then with a discreet wink and a wave to the host, we can stand up and leave if that feeling comes up.

If such truthfulness seems inappropriate or unwelcome, we can tell the host a precautionary excuse before the party, like “I promised to pick someone up at the airport at X o’clock.” If we then slip out as I did, the host should not be offended.

Second, we can practice a graceful, no-excuses goodbye, like standing up and saying to the group, “This was wonderful, I’ll see you around,” and then scooting out before anyone has a chance to protest or start an interrogation.

In any event, be sure to thank the host, either on the spot or afterwards by email or text. And if the gathering takes place in a restaurant, under no circumstances should you stick anyone else with the check!

Why an “Irish goodbye”?

According to my research, no one really knows how Irish or French ethnicity got associated with slipping out unnoticed. Some linguistic detectives attribute the “Irish goodbye” expression to the Northeast of the US, especially Boston, which has a high concentration of Irish Americans. Likewise, I could find no consensus on whether or not Irish people consider the phrase offensive. Some yes, but most no.

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