Picture it: A well cushioned recliner positioned just so before a TV showing your well-used Netflix account. Draped over the arm of said recliner is a book, a book already determined to be good with no worry of having to throw it across the room because the author doesn’t know what they are doing. Some assortment of food—tea, BBQ chips, and something with cheese preferably—lays ready to eat within arm’s reach. This is perfection.

I’ve never been much of a people person, and quite honestly people are exhausting. Chit chat is by far the worst. There’s a few levels of conversation. There’s the surface stuff among strangers, the kind of talk you have at the grocery store or restaurant with the people who are being paid to be nice to you. That’s become automatic. Then comes the worst kinds of interaction with human beings—the conversations you have with people you know and should talk to, but really don’t want to. As an example, I work in a fast-food restaurant and I ran into one of my regulars at the grocery store. Waiting in line to be checked out, I had to talk to him about the one shared interest we had—which was restricted to a shake machine. Please, just kill me. I can’t talk about a shake machine and his shake needs for five minutes…I can’t!

Anyway, it’s all uphill from there, as you talk to people you know and like, then to your closest friends and family, and so on. However, besides conversations near the top of this hill, I find most of these meaningless conversations to not just be tedious, but completely exhausting.

I’m never sure after attending some gathering whether I have a headache from the extended exposure to dozens of people talking at once—and by talking I do mean shouting with a smile, the effort of talking to some of these people for the duration of the gathering, or just the stress I have when I have to deal with people because, generally speaking, I am bad at it.

My observations on my reactions to the outside world and the people living in it have convinced me that I belong in that perfect place on my recliner. I suppose a few people could visit me occasionally, okay maybe a lot, because I don’t hate all people. I just don’t like to experience a multitude of people at once, it just isn’t necessary for me.

Now I am not saying my way is the right way, or that others should copy it. But it is the way I am, and I think the way a lot of other people are too. When I hear people talking about where to go out that night, or where everyone is going to be going, it makes me anxious. I want to be at home, maybe with a person or two I truly enjoy.

I mean, I do go out with a bunch of people occasionally, or at least have an inclination to do so. But that is not my default, my default is homebody, and that is what makes me happy. And that is okay.

So what are the perks? Most recently I have been learning to crochet. There is something incredibly satisfying and soothing about making some kind of pattern out of a hunk of yarn. I think it is just the peace that is so attractive, the peace of just being, either with yourself or another person, and just living without worrying about who you are with an what you have to do.

And there is so much less stress. Again, it probably just because of who I am, but I tend to worry about people’s reactions to the things I do or say and my reactions to them to the point that it is tedious to be around a bunch of new people for a ling tie, there is just so much to consider and try to get right when, more likely than not, I get it wrong.

So I am a homebody because I am happiest when I am at home, I am happiest when I can just

be, and that can include some people I feel close to. I just don’t find a lot of joy in going out among a lot people on a regular basis. Most people like to go out and be with people and experience every night in an exciting and new way, and that is good. For them. I enjoy the comfort of my recliner more.