A Sacred Village of Introverts
There exists a sacred village of introverts, hidden somewhere between Do Not Disturb mode and Airplane Mode. You can’t reach it by GPS. You arrive only after you’ve ignored three phone calls, cancelled a plan with genuine relief, and sighed deeply at the thought of “networking.”
At the entrance, a wooden sign reads: Welcome. No small talk beyond this point. Nobody is there to greet you, and that’s how you know you’re safe.
The village runs on simple rules. Eye contact is limited to three seconds, extendable only after rest. “How are you?” is a serious question and may be answered next week. Sudden phone calls are considered a minor offense, punishable by mandatory alone time and herbal tea. Silence is not awkward here; it is communal bonding.
There is a Temple of Alone Time at the center of the village. It has no sermons, no bells, and no forced participation. People sit quietly, thinking deeply, or not thinking at all. Nearby stands the Ministry of Cancelled Plans, where elders nod approvingly when someone says, “I just didn’t have the energy.” This is considered wisdom, not weakness.
The Department of Overthinking exists too, though it is currently closed because it is thinking about reopening. Across the street is the Library of Things We Rehearsed But Never Said, filled with perfect conversations that happened only in the shower or at 2 a.m.
Festivals are held annually and involve everyone staying home together. Group activities are limited to one and a half people. The bravest villagers are those who attend a social event, smile politely, and leave early. Their names are spoken with reverence.
Extroverts sometimes hear about this place and assume it is sad. It isn’t. Introverts here feel deeply, love fiercely, observe quietly, and laugh internally at excellent jokes they never say out loud. They are not broken extroverts. They are fully formed humans who recharge differently.
If you have ever needed a nap after a conversation, if noise exhausts you more than work, if your richest thoughts arrive in silence, you already belong to this village. You don’t need to move there. You carry it within you.
We would invite you to visit.
But… you know.
