search instagram arrow-down

Recent Posts




Beach Beauty California Change Edinburgh Europe Family Flights Food Friendship Gratitude Hawaii Holidays Home Life Love Maryland motherhood Moving Nature New Orleans New York Paris People Random thoughts Seasons Texas Travel Uncategorized Work
Follow The Wandering Introvert on

Follow The Wandering Introvert on

Yesterday morning, a friend texted to see if I wanted to have dinner later. “Thanks, but I think I’m staying in,” I wrote back. “It sort of feels like a quiet day.”

What an understatement.


My voice emerged only a couple of times on what turned out to be a beautiful Sunday: when I took myself out for breakfast and placed my order, when I called the puppies back to me on the beach widened by low tide, when I sang along to songs and danced in my kitchen. Each time, though I recognized I was being dramatic, it felt like a surprise that my vocal chords still worked.


Such a silent day reminded me of how it was, occasionally, when I first moved to California. In those early days, when I didn’t know anyone on the coast, I would sometimes find myself completely quiet for a full day; once or twice, I nearly made it a whole weekend without talking. It wasn’t by design. It was just my introverted self being fully indulged, shy at the thought of calling a near-stranger to see if they wanted to hang out, a little nervous that maybe they didn’t want to hear from me. I wondered a lot, back then, what I was doing here. I took a lot of long walks; I spent extra time on errands, weighing grocery-store choices more thoughtfully than was necessary.


Slowly, of course, and really not that slowly at all, people here offered their friendship, and now – more often than not – I feel almost too busy, almost too loud. It’s a lucky problem. Saturday, for example, was one plan after another, the whole day steeped in conversation and laughter. And indeed, yesterday I had longstanding plans with a friend, who had to unexpectedly cancel; two other friends had asked me to join them on adventures but I declined. When I found myself with nothing at all to do, it made me curious to see what might unfold.


But here’s the tricky thing about being quiet, even as an introvert: in my experience, at least, it’s pretty easy to start feeling sort of lonely. Even as I planned my day to be exactly what I felt like doing – a meandering walk, time at the beach, writing and the Sunday paper, good coffee in the morning and soup I made for myself at night – I wondered what everyone else was up to. It wasn’t that I worried about missing out. It was just that I wondered if they were thinking of me, as I was thinking of them. I wondered if my silence was noticeable, or if it created an echo only I could hear.

It doesn’t matter. Today will be words upon words, as Mondays are, and my quiet day will be nothing noteworthy, just a wisp of a moment soon drowned by the sounds of life. What a good thing it was to be quiet; what a good thing talking again will be.




Leave a Reply
Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: