PEOPLE ARE AFRAID OF BEING ALONE. I’M AFRAID OF WASTING MY TIME ON PEOPLE WHO DON’T DESERVE IT.

People are terrified of silence, they panic when the room gets quiet, when their phone doesn’t buzz, when nobody is validating their existence in real time, they call it loneliness, I call it peace.

They chase noise the way kids chase ice cream trucks, running, breathless, desperate not to miss out on something that was never meant for them in the first place, they surround themselves with “friends,” with crowds, with people they don’t even like, just so they don’t have to sit with themselves for five minutes and hear their own thoughts.

Me?

I enjoy my own company, and apparently that makes me “cold,” “distant,” “hard to read,” or my favorite diagnosis from people who can’t survive a moment alone: “You’ve changed.”

Yeah, I changed, I changed from being available to everyone into being available to myself, I’m a lone traveler, not because I don’t like people, but because I refuse to wait for people who are always late to life, I don’t wait for flaky promises, for “I’ll let you know,” for “maybe next week,” for emotional availability that never shows up on time, if I want to see the ocean, I go, if I want to explore a new place, I book the ticket, if I want to breathe, I don’t ask permission.

I’m a lone beacher.

I sit by the water, watching waves do what people fail to do: show up consistently, the ocean never pretends, it crashes when it means to crash, it leaves when it means to leave, it doesn’t breadcrumb me with half-effort, it doesn’t promise calm and deliver storms, there is honesty in tides, humans could learn a thing or two.

I enjoy quiet time in the house, the kind of quiet that scares people who use chaos to avoid healing, the kind of quiet where you meet your real self, the unfiltered, unperformative version, no audience, no applause, just you and your thoughts, that’s where clarity lives, that’s where you realize how much energy you used to waste explaining yourself to people committed to misunderstanding you.

I read, not just books, but people, and I have learned that some people only know how to consume, never to contribute, some people treat your time like a free trial they never intend to pay for, some people don’t want connection, they want convenience, they don’t want you, they want access to you.

I write, because not everyone deserves access to my voice, but my journal does, I put my truth on paper instead of wasting it on rooms that echo back gossip, envy, and selective listening, writing doesn’t interrupt me, it doesn’t twist my words, it doesn’t pretend to care and then disappear when it’s time to show up.

I take walks, long ones, the kind where you realize how small most drama is when you actually step outside of it, the kind where you outgrow entire conversations, the kind where you finally understand that peace is not found in people who come with conditions, competition, and quiet resentment, peace is found in choosing yourself without needing to announce it.

People say, “Humans aren’t meant to be alone.” and that's true, but humans also aren’t meant to be surrounded by people who drain them, belittle them, compete with them, or secretly enjoy their struggles. I would rather be alone than sit at a table where my presence is tolerated but my essence is resented.

I’m not lonely, I’m selective, there’s a difference between solitude and abandonment, I wasn’t abandoned, I walked away, from half-love, from performative friendships, from rooms where I had to shrink to make others comfortable.

People fear being alone because being alone forces you to face who you are when nobody is clapping for you.

I faced myself and I liked what I saw, enough to stop begging people to see it too.

So yes, I choose solitude sometimes not because I hate people, but because I respect my time, my energy, my healing, I don’t need to be everywhere, I don’t need to be invited to everything, I don’t need to prove my worth to people who measure value by proximity, not by depth.

I am not antisocial, I am anti-waste-my-life-on-people-who-don’t-deserve-front-row-seats-to-my-soul.

If that makes me “too much” for some, good.

I wasn’t meant to be digested by everyone, Some people choke on substance.