I’ve always sat well with silence.
Not everyone does.
Some people become restless without noise around them.
Without conversation, schedules, updates, distractions, televisions, restaurants, traffic, group texts, or background sound filling every corner of the day.
I’ve never felt afraid of quiet.
In fact, I think I return to it because it helps me hear myself again.
The mountains do this especially well.
Not dramatically.
Not in a cinematic, life-changing way.
More quietly than that.
The mountains simply remove enough noise that your own thoughts finally have room to walk around.
I like the slowness of mountain towns.
The way afternoons stretch.
The way nobody seems particularly interested in rushing.
The way silence exists there without needing to be explained.
I once had neighbors knock on my door because my car hadn’t moved for nearly a week.
I was perfectly happy.
I had groceries.
Coffee.
Books.
Thoughts to untangle.
Sometimes I think solitude has become misunderstood.
People assume being alone means being lonely.
But some of us restore ourselves there.
Some of us think more clearly there.
Notice more there.
Breathe differently there.
The older I get, the less impressed I am by constant stimulation.
I’m much more interested in places, people, and experiences that allow me to exhale.
Maybe that’s why I keep returning to the mountains.
Not to escape life.
Just to hear it more clearly.