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.

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“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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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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