I’m Not Quiet. I’m Thinking.

I recently spent an evening recently with some people I know.

Nice enough. Nobody annoyed me. No drama. Nobody threw a chair.

I was just unusually quiet, and felt a bit self-consious about that.

Normally I’ll talk to anyone. Probably too much. Take the piss, tell stories, ask questions, generally get involved.

This time I mostly sat and listened.

Observed, I suppose.

I didn’t particularly want to talk about me, gardening or work. There are only so many tales of lawn edging one room can take.

But equally, nobody really asked.

And I noticed that.

Not in a poor me, nobody cares about me kind of way.

It was just interesting.

Because when you stop talking and stop filling the gaps, you notice who actually asks you anything.

Maybe I’ve changed.

My life certainly has.

Maybe the tablets have turned the volume down a little. Maybe I’m calmer. Maybe I’m just less interested in filling every silence.

Or maybe I’m finally learning to shut up.

Could be any of the above.

But at one point I wondered why I was there.

Not dramatically. I wasn’t upset or planning a theatrical exit.

Just a quiet thought.

Not…

Do they want me here?

More…

Do I want to be here?

And I think there’s quite a difference.

Perhaps some people are just people I know.

And that’s absolutely fine.

No falling out. No big revelation. No deleting numbers and storming off into the night.

Just noticing things.

People. Conversations. Where I spend my time.

And whether some of the places I’ve always fitted into still fit me.

I don’t know yet.

I’m not in a mood.

I’m thinking.

Meh, this too shall pass.