Mindful Minion

The older I get, the less interested I become in interacting with people.

I used to think growing up would make me more comfortable around others. After all, childhood was a time when I had very little control over my social life. I was extremely introverted, socially awkward, and struggled with severe social anxiety. I couldn’t look people in the eye, barely knew how to hold a conversation, and often felt uncomfortable simply being around other people.

But being a child meant having very little choice.

I had to go to school. I had to accompany my parents to family gatherings, social events, and vacations. If my family had somewhere to go, I went along. If my parents expected me to meet relatives or talk to someone, I had to do it. I couldn’t simply opt out because I didn’t feel like socializing.

Adulthood changed that.

For the first time, I had a considerable amount of control over my social life. I could decide who I wanted to spend time with, whom I wanted to talk to, how close I wanted to become with someone, and which invitations I wanted to decline.

Even in a corporate environment, where interacting with people is part of the job, I still have choices. I can decide how much I want to socialize with colleagues, whether I want to join them for lunch, whether I want to hang out after work, or whether I want to participate in team-building activities. People might think I’m weird, distant, or antisocial. That’s fine. I can live with that.

What I didn’t expect was that my introversion wouldn’t become less pronounced with age. If anything, it has become more extreme.

I Don’t Hate People. I Just Don’t Want to Interact With Them.

I want to make one distinction: I don’t hate everything about humanity, and I don’t have a problem with people interacting with one another.

I enjoy watching livestreams, movies, reading books, following the news, and observing how people live their lives. I’m genuinely interested in human behavior and the world around me.

I just don’t particularly enjoy participating in human interaction myself.

And it’s not necessarily because I’m incapable of having conversations. It’s because interacting with people feels incredibly exhausting in ways that are difficult to explain.

People are complicated. Every person comes with a different personality, upbringing, education, worldview, set of values, expectations, emotional needs, and personal experiences. Even a seemingly harmless conversation requires a surprising amount of mental effort.

I have to think about what I say, how I say it, how someone might interpret it, whether I might unintentionally offend them, whether they might misunderstand me, and whether I might misunderstand them. I have to be tactful, considerate, socially aware, and careful with my words.

Then there are people who are rude, vulgar, stubborn, argumentative, insensitive, judgmental, or unnecessarily confrontational. Some complain constantly. Some enjoy gossiping about other people. Some turn every conversation into an opportunity to express their frustrations. Others seem to have an endless need to criticize everything around them.

Even when I’m not directly involved, simply hearing these conversations can make me uncomfortable.

I don’t enjoy listening to people swear excessively, speak aggressively, complain about their lives, or constantly criticize others. I might sit quietly and say nothing, but internally, I’m already exhausted.

And the frustrating part is that I cannot realistically expect people to behave according to my preferences. What annoys me might be perfectly normal to someone else. What I consider rude might not even register as inappropriate to another person.

The same applies to me. I’m sure I have said and done things that other people find unpleasant, even when I had no intention of upsetting them.

That’s the problem with human interaction. People are constantly bringing their own expectations, interpretations, emotions, and imperfections into the same space. Misunderstandings happen. Conflicts happen. Awkward moments happen. People unintentionally hurt one another, and sometimes they do it deliberately.

Even a five-minute conversation can leave me thinking about something I wish I hadn’t heard.

What Are We Actually Getting Out of These Relationships?

I understand that human beings are social creatures. We need one another to function as a society. Different people have different occupations, skills, and responsibilities. We provide products and services, exchange knowledge, cooperate, and depend on one another in countless ways.

I appreciate all of that.

But when it comes to personal relationships, I have a much lower appetite for social connection than most people seem to have.

I don’t have a group of close friends. I don’t have colleagues I regularly hang out with, and I have never really had someone I could comfortably tell absolutely everything to and feel completely understood and emotionally safe with.

I’ve been like this for as long as I can remember.

Friendship, in my experience, requires a considerable investment of time, energy, money, emotional effort, and patience. Finding someone whose personality, values, expectations, and communication style genuinely align with mine seems incredibly difficult.

And maintaining that relationship can be even more complicated.

I sometimes wonder what people actually get out of spending so much time together. Are we genuinely helping one another grow? Are we exchanging meaningful ideas, expanding each other’s understanding, or bringing some lightness and happiness into one another’s lives?

Or are we simply using one another as an audience for our complaints, frustrations, personal agendas, and endless need for validation?

I know that people need affection, companionship, and emotional connection. I understand their importance. I simply don’t experience those needs at the same intensity.

For me, the benefits of social interaction often don’t seem proportional to the amount of energy it consumes.

People Don’t Always Want the Truth. They Want to Hear What They Want to Hear.

One thing that has particularly reinforced my reluctance to interact with people is how attached we can be to our own opinions and expectations.

I experience this quite frequently as a tarot reader.

People come to me because they want a reading or advice. But when I give them an interpretation that doesn’t align with what they hope to hear, they immediately start arguing.

“But what about this?”

“But what if that happens?”

“But I thought this meant something else?”

Sometimes, I feel like they aren’t actually looking for a different perspective. They’re looking for someone to confirm the outcome they’ve already decided they want.

They want to know exactly when they’ll get the money they expect, whether the person they’re interested in will eventually love them back, or what specific actions they can take to guarantee a particular outcome.

They seem to believe there’s a formula for everything: do the right things in the right order, and life will deliver exactly what they want.

And when reality doesn’t cooperate, they keep searching for another answer.

I find this exhausting.

Of course, I’m not exempt from these tendencies. I have my own attachments, expectations, and stubborn opinions. But observing these patterns in other people has made me increasingly aware of how difficult it can be for us to step outside our own perspectives.

We often don’t want to understand. We want to be right. We don’t necessarily want to discover something new. We want our existing beliefs to be validated.

And when several people with different expectations, egos, and emotional needs interact, it’s hardly surprising that things become complicated.

The More I Become Aware, the More I Notice

I sometimes wonder whether my increasing reluctance to socialize has something to do with becoming more aware of human behavior.

Things I might have overlooked when I was younger now stand out to me.

When someone gossips about another person, I notice the judgment behind their words. When someone constantly complains, I notice how easily negativity becomes the center of a conversation. When someone makes an insensitive remark, I notice the potential hurt it might cause, even if everyone else simply laughs and moves on.

I have become more conscious of the emotional dynamics taking place during ordinary interactions: what people say, what they might mean, how they react, what they expect from one another, and how easily a conversation can turn uncomfortable.

I also notice my own reactions more clearly.

Perhaps my personal development and spiritual practice have made me more observant. Perhaps I’ve simply become more sensitive to things I previously ignored. Whatever the reason, I find myself noticing more and enjoying social interaction less.

And sometimes, I genuinely wish I could unhear certain conversations.

I don’t want to spend my time listening to endless complaints, unnecessary criticism, speculation about things people know very little about, or arguments driven entirely by ego.

I don’t want every casual conversation to become an opportunity to judge someone, criticize the world, revisit the past, or complain about an imaginary future.

I know I cannot control what people say. I can only decide how much of it I want to expose myself to.

Perhaps This Is Why I Understand the Desire to Renounce the World

From a Buddhist perspective, human existence is deeply entangled with suffering. We are constantly navigating taṇhā (craving), dosa (aversion), and moha (delusion), alongside all the other emotions, attachments, and expectations that shape our behavior.

We want things. We dislike things. We compare ourselves with others. We become attached to particular outcomes. We feel disappointed when reality doesn’t meet our expectations. We hurt one another, sometimes intentionally, sometimes without even realizing it.

And then we suffer from the consequences.

I can understand why some people feel drawn to monastic life and the pursuit of spiritual liberation. The ordinary world can be incredibly exhausting.

That said, I’m not under the illusion that entering a monastery means escaping human interaction altogether. Monastics still live within a community, interact with laypeople, serve others, follow routines, and navigate relationships with fellow practitioners. Spiritual practice itself requires discipline and responsibility.

And honestly, I don’t think I have reached a level of spiritual development where I could comfortably live that kind of life.

I also recognize that I cannot simply opt out of humanity. I need other people. I depend on the products, services, knowledge, and work that others provide. I am part of a society, and I accept that being human means having to coexist with other human beings.

But accepting that reality doesn’t mean I have to enjoy every part of it.

I’m Done Feeling Bad About Feeling This Way

For a long time, I thought I was supposed to become more sociable.

I thought I should make more friends, maintain more relationships, become more comfortable with people, and find more happiness in social activities. There’s an almost universal assumption that human connection is inherently fulfilling, that having more friends is better, and that a socially active life is something everyone should aspire to.

But what if that’s simply not what I want?

I don’t want to force myself into friendships just because other people have them. I don’t want to attend gatherings out of obligation when I’d rather be alone. I don’t want to feel inadequate because I don’t have a large social circle. And I certainly don’t want to spend my time questioning whether there’s something wrong with me because I don’t derive much pleasure from ordinary social interaction.

I have spent enough energy feeling exhausted by people. I don’t want to spend additional energy feeling guilty about being exhausted by them.

That would be exhausting in itself.

So I’ve decided to accept this part of myself without constantly trying to correct it.

I will continue to interact with people when necessary. I’ll communicate when my work requires it, cooperate when circumstances call for it, and appreciate the products and services that make my life possible. I’ll maintain whatever relationships I genuinely value.

But beyond that, I have no intention of manufacturing a social life just to satisfy an expectation.

I don’t need a thousand friendships. I don’t need to be invited everywhere. I don’t need to enjoy small talk, group activities, team-building events, or hours of casual conversation. I don’t need to convince myself that every interaction is an opportunity for happiness and personal growth.

I’d rather reduce unnecessary human interaction as much as I reasonably can and spend my time doing things I actually enjoy.

And I don’t want to apologize for that.

A Quiet Rebellion

I’m not perfect, either. I have my own flaws, attachments, frustrations, and moments of ignorance. I’m part of the very humanity I find so exhausting.

Perhaps that’s why I no longer want to turn every unpleasant interaction into a conflict. People will disappoint me, misunderstand me, offend me, and sometimes hurt me without even realizing it. I can acknowledge those experiences without passing the same suffering on to someone else. I can let things go, keep my frustrations to myself, and accept these inconveniences as part of being human, perhaps even part of the karma I have to experience in this lifetime.

But accepting humanity doesn’t mean I have to enjoy interacting with it.

Do I hate who I am? No. Do I hate every aspect of human nature? No. There is kindness, generosity, intelligence, and compassion in people, too. But do I dislike human interaction? Absolutely.

I would rather observe the world than participate in most of its social activities. I’d rather have fewer conversations, fewer obligations, and fewer unnecessary connections. I want to fulfill my responsibilities, appreciate what others contribute to society, and spend the rest of my time in ways that genuinely make me happy.

This is my quiet rebellion against human interaction: I refuse to make myself miserable trying to become someone who enjoys it.

I don’t need to fix my introversion, manufacture friendships, or apologize for wanting to be left alone. I can accept the world as it is, accept myself as I am, and quietly opt out of as much unnecessary interaction as possible.