Finding my quiet corner (and maybe you can too)
image credit: Pramod Tiwari
For years, my inner landscape felt like a crowded marketplace. Every opinion shouted, every notification buzzed, every fear echoed. The world outside, with its 24/7 news cycle and relentless demands, just amplified the internal chaos. Creating a sense of calm, let alone my own reality within that noise? It felt like trying to build a sandcastle during a hurricane.
I devoured self help online gurus, chased fleeting trends of “inner peace,” and tried every meditation app under the sun. Sometimes, for a blissful five minutes, the static would fade. But then, the world would seep back in, a relentless tide pulling me under its noisy surface. My “reality” felt dictated by headlines, social media feeds, and the anxieties of everyone around me. It wasn’t mine. It was a borrowed, secondhand, and frankly, terrifying place to live.
The turning point, as it often is, wasn’t a grand revelation but a quiet whisper of desperation. I was exhausted. Drained. Living on the frayed edges of my nerves. I realized I couldn’t outrun the noise. The world is going to world. The internet will keep buzzing. The anxieties will still be there. My only hope was to build a sanctuary within the storm. To cultivate a patch of quiet earth where my own reality could take root and flourish.
It wasn’t easy. My mind, trained for years to latch onto every siren and flashing light, resisted fiercely. It craved the familiar drama, the urgent updates, the validation of external opinions. But slowly, painstakingly, I started to build.
Here are some of the (still ongoing) practices that are helping me carve out my own quiet corner and, dare I say it, build a reality that feels more mine:
Gentle art of unplugging (and not feeling guilty): This wasn’t about going full hermit (though some days the urge is strong). It was about conscious disengagement. Scheduling “digital sunsets” where my phone goes into another room. Turning off notifications. Curating my social media feeds to be less… shouty. The world didn’t end. In fact, the space that opened up felt… breathable.
Finding my anchors in the physical world: The digital realm is a swirling vortex. I needed grounding. This meant rediscovering the simple joy of a cup of tea savored slowly, the feel of my bare feet on the grass, the rhythm of my own breath. These small, tangible moments became anchors in the present, pulling me away from the hypothetical anxieties of the future or the curated realities of others.
Listening to the inner voice (even when it’s a mumble): The world loves to tell you who to be, what to want, and how to feel. It takes conscious effort to tune into that quiet, often hesitant voice within. Journaling, even just a few scribbled lines, became a way to hear myself again, unfiltered by external noise.
Creating rituals of stillness: Meditation still feels like a wrestling match some days, but even five minutes of focused breathing makes a difference. It’s not about emptying my mind (that feels impossible as an INTJ), but about creating a small pocket of stillness where the noise can’t quite reach. A quiet walk, a few stretches, listening to calming music – these became my small acts of rebellion against the chaos.
Saying no (like I mean it): The world often demands our attention and energy. Learning to say “no” to things that don’t align with my values or drain my peace has been a slow but crucial process. It’s about protecting my inner sanctuary and consciously choosing what gets to enter my reality.
Embracing the boring: The constant pursuit of excitement is exhausting. I’m learning to appreciate the beauty in the mundane, the quiet comfort of routine, the simple joy of just being. This “boring” space is where my own thoughts and feelings have room to breathe.
This isn’t about building a fortress to shut the world out entirely. That’s not sustainable, nor is it really the goal. It’s about cultivating an inner resilience, a quiet core within the noise. It’s about consciously choosing what shapes my reality, rather than letting the external world dictate it.
The journey is ongoing. Some days the marketplace feels louder than others. But with each small act of reclaiming my attention, each conscious choice to tune into my own quiet voice, I feel that sandcastle of calm becoming a little more sturdy. Maybe, you can find your quiet corner too. It’s there, waiting beneath the noise. You just have to learn to listen for it.
