Having the introvert's "rich, inner thought life" is like having a thick, beautiful blanket with you. It serves all sorts of purposes, of carrying and covering, of beautifying and reminding.
It is the blanket you gather yourself into for warmth and comfort in the peace ... and to find the peace. You let it envelop you, all the way up to your chin, and you close your eyes.
It is the blanket you tuck behind your back or under your bum to keep from letting the aches and pains of ordinary overwhelm.
It is the blanket you run your hand and your eyes over to remind yourself there is still softness and beauty in the world.
It is the blanket you stuff in cracks and in that thin line between the door and the ground to keep out the cold.
It is the blanket you once used to carry your dolls and stuffed animals and plastic toys with you wherever you went. The blanket transformed them.
It is the blanket that covers your bedridden body, making a time of immobility bearable.
It is the blanket you lie on while gazing at clouds and stars.
It is the blanket you spread over that bare-bones chair to give it beauty and color.
It is the blanket you wrap your burdens and your treasures in, and which is inseparable from both.
It is the blanket you once carried with you in public without a thought, it was so natural. And then you started worrying about what people would think, so you left it at home (or at least tried to hide it). Now you bring it with you again, unapologetic and unafraid.
It is the blanket you were given as a baby, or maybe even before birth. You could never part with it.
The blanket is your most treasured possession and the greatest gift you can give to others. When they are cold, alone, or confused, your blanket is there. You are there. To listen, to share, to muse over the possibilities, to empathize, to dive deep together, to be still together.
That is my gift to you.