I find that the busier I get, the more jealously I guard my alone time.
I know I am seen generally as an extrovert – a people person, always (or mostly) friendly and talkative. Which is kind of true. I am – or try to be – friendly, gregarious even, and I enjoy spending time with others. Small groups are less intimidating, but I can do big groups just fine, especially if I can concentrate on just a few people at a time.
To be the lovely gregarious person who enjoys being around people, who strives to be gracious, I must – MUST – have a quiet day to myself. At the very least, I must have an hour or two to myself every few days, unbeholden to anyone or anything, mine to spend or waste or savour in any way I choose. Perhaps I’ll choose to do laundry or mop the floor, or I’ll choose to walk. I may choose to read or write or sing. The key for me is to enjoy the silence around me.
Yesterday was one of those days – I walked, watched an episode of Midsomer Murders, did a few loads of laundry and took a lovely nap (I was somewhat exhausted after my hike and run up the stairs (see yesterday’s post)). I fixed a yummy dinner and then spent the evening making and listening to beautiful music.
All in all, perhaps a perfect quiet day.