There are moments of my existence when life is more at peace. Times where I feel serenely present. Times where I'm okay. Times when nothing else matters but breathing. Two of those times specifically, I am alone. And there's nothing wrong with that. It's just how I am made.
Most folks think I'm an extrovert because I perform well socially. Because I have confidence. Because I'm not shy. But I am far from the extrovert end of the spectrum. I'm a pretty die hard introvert. I enjoy my alone hours. I need them. Those hours alone are where I draw energy from. I need those hours to recenter, rejuvenate. I need to write. I need to read. I need to breathe. And listen. And play fetch with the mutts. And cuss at them when they sling mud on me. And feel the wind. And watch the winged creatures. And watch leaves fade to yellow. Saturday mornings, early, alone, in the sun room, in my favorite chair, laptop in reach, journal on hand, coffee in grasp, and book on standby. This is one of those total peace feeling energy coming back centering chilling moments of wholeness. There's another time, on the days I get home alone before anyone else, and it's just me and the mutts and the traffic and something to sip on (usually sparkling water, don't judge). This is my introversion. Yeah, I perform well in public but it's not my happy place. It's not where I feel the most alive. It's not where I feel energized afterwards.
Home. Alone. Is where it's at.
It's ok to love your quiet quaint life. Not all of us want or need a life out-loud. We're okay tucked away in our nest away from all the chaos that is the world. We need this time to ourselves to regain focused into who we are. To not feel overwhelmed. To not feel claustrophobic. To not feel looked upon. To breathe unrestricted air. Alone. To do as the fuck we please.
Ph
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