If you were to know me, you’d understand that I sometimes prefer to be quiet rather than to talk. I’m not anti-social so much as I don’t always feel like what I have to say is important, or unique, or helpful to a situation and/or conversation. This is not as many seem to believe me pretending to be a shrinking violet; my silence, while a curse from those looking outside in, is really a gift.
People tend to make the point that speaking up for yourself, to have an opinion, is a gift. To be quiet, to let every situation play out as it may, is a matter of allowing anything and everything to take advantage of you. I disagree. If a television show has no ratings, it gets canceled. If you don’t respond to a bully, that bully will look like a crazy person talking to someone who isn’t there.
You can learn about so much around you when you can remove yourself and become invisible. Attention, that nagging human desire, is actually at times a disease; it causes a person to become self-centered to the point where all things living serve to be your audience. I, as all humans are, am guilty of letting that dominate my existence for most of my life because I wanted to matter to others.
Slowly, I’m starting to understand that I don’t need to matter to others. This is not a battle that I win everyday; any glance at Instagram, Twitter or Facebook reminds me all the time of what I could have had if I were more of a sociable person. For my survival, for my ability to be independent, my silence is necessary.
To those who misunderstand that, I pity them and their misrepresentation of those around them who practice the art of being silent. As I approach 40, the thoughts of another should no longer be my concern. As I approach 40, the need of attention is less and less. As I approach 40, being quiet is golden.
To be quiet, is to be blessed.