I had quite a bit of time for reflection in the last two days. Car rides seem to be uniquely suited to that, unless you are the driver, I suppose.
I noticed that I looked out the window a lot. It seems to be a habit of mine on car rides. I do read, or we chat or tease each other or sometimes just doze on one of those longer rides. But often I find myself looking out the window, thinking.
I’ve done this for as long as I can remember. I don’t speak much either. Only when asked a questions or I feel the need to contribute or just to be witty or cheeky, if the mood strikes.
This is so typical for me that I’ve never given it much thought before, but now that I know more about introverts and INFJ personality types, it seems that it should’ve occurred to me a lot sooner that I prefer to be quiet rather than loud.
But then sitting still, watching the scenery, wondering about the age of the mountains, knowing how they came into existence and feeling as if I am looking at the depth of time, is so normal for me that I’ve not really questioned it as something that might be outside the norm or unusual.
It’s neither, especially for me. But I feel more aware of it now.
I know more. My perspective has shifted and my realization deepened. I know how the Alps came into being, I can see the strata and folds in the layers and wonder, what I studied Geologist see when looking at those mountains. I’m barely an amateur, but I know enough to see slightly more than I did before.
Just as I now realize how quiet I can truly be.
I sit looking at the scenery travelling past my window and I write inside my head. I write my next blog or I write about love. From there I start daydreaming before eventually writing some more.
Thinking is writing. Writing is thinking, though, just as much. One is impossible without the other, to me anyway. They go hand in hand.
You may not be surprised to hear by now, that I worry about getting enough me-time in the next few days. I get quiet time on car rides. It’s different with my family around. There’s comfort there and the knowledge of each other. We’re just being ourselves, because we can.
But when my brother and I are going off to see our friends, I may be forced into spending more time with everyone than I strictly speaking care for. Excusing myself may be rude and I resent thinking like that. I shouldn’t have to apologize, especially if I walk away in order to write.
I return to work in eight days. Or rather, I return to my day job in eight days. Best not to think of that, though. Because I am here now and here is all that matters.
Spending time with my family, getting to just be, writing in my head and wondering about strata.
That’s just about the perfect kind of holiday.