There are days I don’t want to stay inside my house.
Not because I have somewhere important to be.
Not because I am chasing anything urgent.
Just… because I don’t want to be there.
The walls start to feel louder than people.
My thoughts start to feel too close.
And even silence begins to feel like pressure instead of peace.
So I leave.
I tell myself I just need a change of scenery.
A place where nobody knows me.
A place where I can sit, breathe, think, and not be needed by anyone for a while.
Coffee shop. Fast food place. Anywhere with a chair.
Somewhere between being home and being nowhere.
But what I forget every time is this:
Public places are not escape rooms.
They are living systems.
People are always asking.
Machines are always ringing.
Orders are always being called out like small interruptions to your thoughts.
And somehow… I always end up in the middle of it.
Sitting down like I’m invisible…
but also fully present in a world that refuses to be quiet.
I open my books anyway.
I try to study anyway.
I try to convince myself that I can create stillness in motion.
But I haven’t yet learned what this place really is.
Not peace.
Not escape.
Just life happening loudly around me while I pretend I’m not part of it.
And still… I sit there.
Not fully understanding why I keep choosing these seats.
And maybe… it is not always about me at all.
Sometimes it is because your presence in a place, at a specific time, might be the quiet interruption someone else did not know they needed.
A reminder that they are still seen.
Still human.
Still capable of believing in themselves again… or finding a reason to keep going.
Maybe that is what these seats really are.
Not just resting places.
But unseen intersections of lives.
By Joan A. Roberts
