Introvert in a big city
Finding stillness in both the big and small places
Hello! I’m back from a hiatus after my husband and I loaded our kids into the car and took a much-needed trip back to Seattle to visit our friends and family. It was a bittersweet trip, as we also unpacked our storage unit and loaded it into a Uhaul, moving the last of our possessions up to central British Columbia, Canada, where we are now living (and by we, I mean he, my husband, did the unpacking and packing, while I wrestled two children in the blistering heat who refused to sleep past 4:30 a.m. every morning).
It was so lovely being back in the Pacific Northwest. Seattle (and the area) very much became my home. After a few years in San Francisco and a few months in New York, I settled in Seattle in 2015, instantly feeling a connection with the land, the people, the winter moodiness, the pristine summers, the peaceful ferry rides to and from our favourite islands, and the never-ending beauty there is to photograph.
Speaking of big cities, I’ve always found it strange that I, an introvert, spent over 10 years living in big cities. How could that be when I enjoy such quietness?
As it turns out, big cities are exceptional at providing quietness, intentionally designing nature-rich parks in the middle of skyscrapers, a quiet respite from the otherwise bustling city culture. It’s not just the parks, though, or the hidden coffee shops you discover in parts of town otherwise deemed uncool, or the libraries you can get lost in, or the sound of the ocean waves kissing the city’s side.
It’s anonymity.
It’s being unknown in a sea of people, allowing yourself to disappear into the abyss where no one knows you or cares to even look at you. I’ve always found such calmness in those moments, of realizing I can sit on a park bench in Union Square Park and write the day away, not a single soul paying any attention to me or threatening to disturb my thoughts. In a big city, it’s almost as if you’re watching a film (if you choose not to get wrapped up in the chaos, that is). You can sit back and observe, study, contemplate, reflect, learn, wonder and grow.
However, even in the densest parts of the parks, the hum of the city still lingers amongst the leaves. When I moved back to the small town I’m now in, I immediately noticed the silence. It was a beautiful reset to my system—one I didn’t know I needed.
Of course, my anonymity disappeared here. I’m not kidding when I say that whenever I leave the house, I’m bound to run into at least one person I know if not three or four; some days, it’s been more. One day, while waiting at a stoplight on my way home and realizing I hadn’t run into anyone I knew, I looked at the car next to me, only to see someone I once knew very well, sitting and smiling at me. I don’t usually mind these interactions, but they do require small talk, something I did less of in the big cities and requires intentional energy and presence—things I struggle to maintain as an introvert (and perhaps a highly sensitive person, too).
Upon returning to Seattle, my anonymity returned, though this time, I noticed the lack of silence. It felt overwhelming, the way it did when I first moved to San Francisco in 2011. Why are there always so many sirens? Why are there so many cars? Where could they all possibly be going and all at the same time?
I found it funny that after over a decade of living in the big cities, it took me less than two years in a quiet, rural, small town to adapt to my new surroundings and prefer the silence and slowness a smaller community offers.
Perhaps it’s simply that I’m getting older. I no longer long for the things I once did. There are certainly things I miss about Seattle—living blocks away from the ocean, the golden sunsets, the ferries, the food, gosh, the food there is so good, my friends, my career there as a photographer, the list goes on—but for now, I’m enjoying my slower pace of life, even if it results in more boredom, which produces its own kind of creativity.
What about you? What do you prefer?
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I enjoy the spaces in between, probably because I identify as an ambivert.
To me, those are spaces where I have peace at home, but easy access to the energy a big city offers.
My wife and I somehow managed to find that balance, and I remind myself how lucky we are. We hear owls at night and coyotes roam free, yet we can get to major cultural events quite easily.
I’ve heard people say that they don’t need to meet new people or make new friends, yet I’ve always felt the opposite. Of course there are friends you can never replace and don’t want to. But there is always someone sliding out of your life (because you are changing and so are they) and someone new to fill that spot.
I think city life makes it a bit easier to connect with people, although it’s not just that. When we remain open to meeting others and make an effort, we attract others seeking the same thing. That can happen in a small town too.
Love this Kim...and so relatable. As an introvert, rural living suits me best as I love the quiet, the wildlife, and lack of social interaction ;-) But, we do love the Bay Area, and more specifically Marin, where we spend much of our time helping out by babysitting the grands. The social interactions centered around our grandchildren, including their friends and parents from their school have been so good for me, and have helped pierce my isolationist bubble. Though I still find it exhausting, it's so much easier for me to be social while hiding in anonymity behind my 4 and 7 year old grands ;-) And then we get to come home...our respite from the busyness and chaos, to regroup and recharge before our next visit.
Cheers