When Quiet Starts to Feel Like Home

“There were too many people, too much noise. The very air was irritable and exhausted and spent.” — Daphne du Maurier

Ever walked into a noisy crowd and felt like you just wanted to disappear? Not out of sadness, but because the whole thing just felt... too much?

You’re not alone. And no, nothing is wrong with you.

As we grow older, something shifts. The buzz of large gatherings, the noise, the constant chatter—it starts to feel draining, not energizing. You begin to crave quiet. You find joy in solitude or the calm presence of one or two people you really connect with. That’s not loneliness. That’s maturity.

When we’re younger, we often chase people, parties, noise, and attention. That’s normal. But over time, we start realizing peace feels better than attention. Silence feels better than small talk. Solitude becomes not something to escape from—but something to look forward to.

And here's the beautiful part—you start becoming your own best company. You learn to enjoy your thoughts. Your routines. Your books. Your walks. You’re not avoiding people. You’re just being kind to yourself.

So don’t feel guilty if loud spaces now feel suffocating. Don’t feel odd if you’d rather stay in than go to a big event. That’s growth. That’s your soul finally catching its breath.

In solitude, you are in charge. You choose the mood. The pace. The energy. It’s freedom, not isolation.

So embrace it. Love it. Look forward to it.

Your peaceful self is the best company you’ll ever have.

Let the Small Dogs Bark—You’ve Got Better Things to Do

“If a lion turned every time small dogs barked at it, it would be the laughing stock of the jungle.” — Matshona Dhliwayo

If you share your thoughts in public—online or offline—you will get feedback. Some of it will help you grow. Some of it will try to tear you down. Learning to tell the difference is everything.

Good criticism is gold. It makes you sharper, wiser, better. But here’s the thing—not all criticism is good. Some people just don’t like your face. Or your tone. Or your confidence. They’re not trying to improve the conversation. They’re trying to drag you into theirs.

Ignore them.

Especially in the online world, the noise never stops. Opinions fly 24/7. Trolling is easy. Nuance is rare. If you keep turning to answer every comment, you’ll spend your life doing nothing but reacting. That’s not power. That’s distraction.

So, be smart about it. Set a time. Maybe 30 minutes a day or twice a week. Go through your feedback with a clear mind. Skip the hate. Skip the sarcasm. If someone cared enough to explain their point with clarity, read it. Think. If there’s value, act on it.

But don’t feed the trolls. Don’t get stuck trying to win every debate. Some things are facts. Others are just opinions—yours, theirs, everyone’s.

You’re not here to bark back at every noise. You’ve got things to build, ideas to explore, a life to live.

So keep moving. Keep growing. And let the small dogs bark. That’s what they do.

Try Boldly, But Don’t Bet the House

“There’s no such thing as ruining your life. Life’s a pretty resilient thing, it turns out.” — Sophie Kinsella

Truth is, life can bounce back from a lot. Bad decisions. Missed chances. Awkward failures. Most of it isn’t the end. It’s just a turn in the road. That’s why you should try new things. Explore. Take some chances. That’s how you grow.

But here’s the catch—don’t throw all caution to the wind.

Some mistakes are recoverable. Others are not. So always ask yourself: What’s the worst that can happen? If you can handle the worst, then go ahead and give it a shot. If not, pause. Re-think. Maybe try a smaller version of the risk.

Don’t speculate your savings on a hunch. Don’t play with the law. Don’t sign up for stunts that could end your story. You don’t need to touch fire to know it burns. Learn from others. That’s wisdom.

Try, fail, learn. But try smart. Manage your responsibilities. Know your limits. Don’t risk what you can’t afford to lose—money, health, family, or self-respect.

The idea isn’t to play it safe forever. The idea is to play it wise. Be bold, but measured. Be open, but not reckless. Life is resilient. You’ll bounce back from most things. But it’s nicer when you don’t have to.

So go on—try something new. Make a change. Say yes to something that excites you. Just do the math first. And then have fun.

You’ve got more room to explore than you think. Just don’t bet the house.

A Year on the Road: My 2025 Travels

2025 was a year on the move. A lot of miles. Many towns. Short stays. Long drives. Memories now tied more to highways than calendars.

Winter began quietly in Baytown, Texas, a suburb east of Houston. January to mid-February passed there. Familiar roads. Routine days. A calm base before the year opened up.

By mid-February, I flew to Dharwad, my hometown in India. One full month. Family. Old neighborhoods. Familiar food. Time slowed down in the best way.

I returned to the US at the end of March. From that point on, the road took over.

Each of the following stops was about one week long.

Long Beach, Mississippi came first. A small Gulf Coast town. Quiet beaches. Empty stretches of sand. Laid-back and understated.

Next was Enterprise, Alabama. A farming town known for its Boll Weevil Monument. Deep agricultural roots. Slow Southern pace.

Then Kissimmee, Florida. Tourist heavy. Close to Disney. Busy roads. Constant movement.

Naples, Florida followed. Clean and polished. Calm beaches. Affluent and orderly.

Dania Beach, Florida came next. Close to Fort Lauderdale but quieter. Easy beach access. A mix of old Florida and cruise-port energy.

Homestead, Florida followed. Gateway to the Everglades and Biscayne National Park. Flat land. Farming country. Heat and wide skies.

Cape Coral, Florida came next. A town built around canals. Water everywhere. Boats instead of sidewalks.

Jacksonville, Florida followed. A large, spread-out city. Wide river. Long bridges. Felt like several towns stitched together.

Then came Allenhurst, Georgia. Small coastal town. Quiet streets. Close to military bases. Calm and residential.

Lake City, South Carolina followed. A modest Southern town. Rail lines. Old brick buildings. Slow evenings.

Bryson City, North Carolina came next. Mountains all around. Cooler air. Gateway to the Smoky Mountains. One of the most peaceful stops of the year.

Rustburg, Virginia followed. Rural and green. Rolling land. Classic Virginia countryside.

Viper, Kentucky came next. Deep Appalachian country. Narrow roads. Steep hills. Very quiet.

Kimbolton, Ohio followed. A tiny village surrounded by farmland. Open skies. Minimal traffic. Pure rural Midwest.

Milton, Pennsylvania came next. A river town near the Susquehanna. Old houses. Calm pace.

Deal Island, Maryland followed. A remote fishing community. Surrounded by water. Felt like the edge of civilization.

New Castle, Delaware came next. Colonial history everywhere. Cobblestone streets. Small but historically dense.

Hainesport, New Jersey followed. Quiet suburb. Pine Barrens nearby. A gentle pause before New England.

Newtown, Connecticut came next. Classic New England feel. Colonial homes. Trees. Orderly and calm.

Newark, Vermont followed. Rural and scenic. Green mountains. Cool evenings. Very quiet.

Derry, New Hampshire came next. Lakes and forests. Small-town energy. Comfortable and livable.

Blue Hill, Maine followed. Coastal Maine at its best. Harbors. Cold water. Thoughtful slow days.

Woonsocket, Rhode Island came next. An old mill town. Industrial history. Compact and dense.

After that long stretch, I spent more than a week with family in Clinton, Massachusetts. A classic New England town. Hills. Quiet neighborhoods. Familiar faces. It felt like a reset.

By the end of September, I flew again to Dharwad, India. End of September to end of October. Another full month. Family time. Festivals. Familiar rhythms.

Back to Clinton, Massachusetts for almost two weeks after returning to the US.

Then came the snowbird drive south. About 2,000 miles over a week.

The first night stop was Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. A river city and state capital. Brief halt.

Next came Johnson City, Tennessee for four days. Appalachian foothills. College town energy. One of the most pleasant breaks on the drive.

Then three long driving days south. Overnight halts in Birmingham, Alabama and Slidell, Louisiana. Finally reached the Houston area.

I spent about three weeks in the Houston region handling yearly chores and errands.

One week each in three familiar Texas towns in the Houston area.

Bacliff, Texas. A small coastal town near Galveston Bay. Fishing boats. Quiet roads. Relaxed bay life.

Texas City, Texas followed. Industrial port town. Refineries and shipping yards. Functional and working-class.

Baytown, Texas came next. A large suburb shaped by energy industries. Familiar territory. Easy rhythms.

After that, I drove further south.

Two weeks in Edinburg, Texas. Deep South Texas. Border culture. Warm winters. Distinct identity.

One week in La Feria, Texas followed. Small agricultural town. Quiet streets. Simple living.

For the final trip of the year, I drove north again within Texas. Ended 2025 in Jarrell, Texas near Austin. A small town. Open land. A quiet place to welcome 2026.

Total distance traveled in 2025 was roughly 15,000 miles. All stays were in Airbnbs and hotels.

When I became a full-time digital nomad in 2022, the first goal was to set foot in all 48 continental US states. That was completed in 2023.

The next goal was bigger. To spend at least one full week in each of the 48 continental states. This 2025 journey completed that goal. When I began the year, there were still 10 states where I had not yet spent a week. All of them were covered during this trip.

Only Alaska and Hawaii remain. They will be explored someday too.

A long year. A full year. And one defined by roads.

 

 

Doing Nothing Is a Superpower

Steven Magee said, “The person that looks like they are doing nothing is often the smartest!” At first glance, it sounds lazy. But look closer. It’s wisdom.

We live in a world obsessed with doing. Meetings, messages, tasks, hustle. We’ve become human doings instead of human beings. Always moving. Always thinking. Never still.

But real clarity comes in stillness. The smartest people often appear to be doing nothing because they’re pausing. Reflecting. Observing. Letting their mind breathe.

Doing nothing is not waste. It’s recovery. It’s recalibration. It’s the mind stepping back to see the full picture.

Try it. Stop. Be quiet. Not just physically, but mentally. Let the thoughts settle. Let the pressure go. Just be. If you struggle, go sit by the sea. Watch the waves. Don’t label. Don’t judge. Just observe.

Nature is the best company when you’re learning how to be. Trees don’t talk. The sea doesn’t interrupt. Wind doesn’t expect. But they remind you what calm looks like.

No one is asking you to abandon your responsibilities. But if you never pause, you’ll burn out. Slow down. Doing nothing for a while is not laziness—it’s intelligence. It gives your mind space to think clearly, feel deeply, and act wisely.

So next time you see someone sitting quietly, not scrolling, not typing, not talking—don’t assume they’re wasting time. They might be doing the most important thing of all.

They’re returning to being.

Try it. You’ll be surprised how much your mind reveals when it finally gets quiet.