I used to think I was an extrovert. These days, I’m really not sure.


Something happened when fall rolled around. Life became crisp and calm—all pumpkin lattes and cozy sweaters.


The hustle and chaos of the last six months dropped off suddenly—leaving behind the sound of the lake lapping coolly against its shores, and the steady beat of my now peaceful heart.


I’m grateful—really. The stress of the last six months took its toll.


And I’m rolling around in this sudden quiet—grateful for the rest and contemplation and surprising joy that it contains.


I’m spending more and more time alone these days—totally content to close my bedroom door behind me—soaking in the sanctuary I worked so hard to create.


My favorite books are in neat stacks on my bookshelves, accompanied by strategically placed nick-nacks from all over the world. Photos of my friends are strung up over my desk, and my bed sits like a soft cloud in the middle of the room—just begging me to sink into it. My room is a haven filled with all of my favorite things where I can unwind and be me in whatever form that takes that day.


Sometimes I watch movies, sometimes I write. Sometimes I do nothing at all, with music humming softly in the background.


I can sit at the antique wooden chair at my desk, inspiring things whispering at me from the neat top of my newly refinished desk. Or I can sit on the soft cushioned chair next to a tiny end table—the top graced with a delicious smelling candle and a book about cooking. It’s my reading nook, but I can do whatever I want there. After all, it is my room.


I can keep it clean or I can leave it a mess—dumping my purse and the day’s outfit on the floor in favor of yoga pants and a well-worn t-shirt. I can organize and put my things away—each lovingly set in its place. But whatever I choose, it’s my room, my mess, my place to just be me.


I’m not being anti-social, or maybe I am. But nothing has felt better in so many months.


I’ve been feeling this call for solitude for a while now—ignoring it in favor of one more outing, one more coffee date, one more excursion.


I’ve worn myself thin from small talk, and deep conversations—desperately needing some time alone with my own thoughts to figure out what I think and who I want to be all over again.


We need this space—need places in our lives where we can be alone in our heads. We need worlds tucked around us that keep us warm and cozy. We need a soft place to land. We need to honor the season and listen to our souls—saying no, and hiding away, just giving ourselves space to think.


My soul is finally unwinding from the chaos of the summer, and growing big—ready for the next thing, ready to venture out again—at some point. But not today.


I may be an extrovert, but I’m hiding away these days—comfortable and cozy in my room and in my skin, for the first time in a long time.


What sanctuaries do you have in your life? What kind of rest is your soul craving today?