I’m a big proponent of personal space. The ability to go into a room, close the door behind you, and just be yourself, with yourself, by yourself, is worth a lot. And yet, even as an introvert, I’d always choose living with people I care about over living alone.
It’s hard to pinpoint exactly where the magic comes from. Is it knowing there’s always a good conversation waiting? The potential of someone being kind to us, for example by including us in their breakfast plans, without us asking for it? Or simply the comfort of not being the only person in the building?
Whatever the original source, the symptoms are clear. You wake up in the morning, turn from side to side, and you hear it: Pots and dishes are clattering into place as someone empties the dishwasher. The sound of doors opening and closing. A coffee machine making grinding noises, then water running with a splash.
Whether they make you jump out of bed or close your eyes again in peace, the many sounds of life are how you know: There’s movement in the house, and you’re not alone in this world—and that’s worth more than all the personal space you could ever want.
