Sometimes I don’t want to talk. It’s just that simple.

Sometimes I don’t want to talk. It’s just that simple.

It isn't personal or directed at you. I’m not mad. I’m not ignoring you. I’m not plotting your death or some type of revenge. I’m not stewing over the way you put the dishes in the dishwasher wrong every freaking time (okay, well, maybe occasionally that one - you know who you are).

I’m quiet. It might be because I’m

hungry

or tired

or compulsive

or frustrated

or sad

or happy

or contemplative

 or processing information

or analyzing my options.

Sometimes I don’t want to interrupt you.

Sometimes I’m in a hurry.

Sometimes I don’t have anything to say.

Sometimes I’m focused and don’t want to lose my concentration.

Sometimes I’m wrapped up in my own thoughts and actually don’t notice you.

When I’m forced to talk, I feel trapped. But it is always about me. It isn't about you, nor is it a judgment of you. So when you take it personally and assume I’m removed or distant or arrogant, try to remember I don’t process the outside world the same way you do. I'm still interested in your opinions and what you have to say. The world over stimulates me. I gather my strength from the quiet.

Yes, I keep people at a distance, but those I let in, I love fiercely. But as much as I love them, and love new experiences and new people, I revere silence. If my silence offends you, we probably won’t be friends. I have to allow enough space in my life for me, and sometimes that means not responding in the manner or time frame you’d prefer. I won’t respond to every text, Facebook request, Twitter message, voice mail, or phone call. My real friends know this. And they know I love them anyway. 

I scrawled this entire post on a scrap of paper as I drove down the interstate this afternoon in silence. No radio. No phone. Me. My thoughts. This is my happiness.