Sometimes I process things by talking about it.
Or writing.
Articulating it helps me know what it is.
Words smith what I’m thinking into shape.

One of my most common coping mechanisms is to go distant.

distant

Ever since I was a child I remember being told that. “You’re distant!”
Meaning I’m far away. I’ve wandered off. Not present.

I just get very quiet and very far away
without moving an inch.

It’s a place of silence and solitude. I brood.
If I was alone nobody would say anything.
No one would draw attention to it.
It wouldn’t be inappropriate.

But the fact that this happens when I’m with people makes it noticeable and, for some, sometimes wrong.
There are times when I need to be alone when I’m not, and can’t.

So I get distant. I wander off in my mind. I retreat within.

What do I think about?
Anything and everything. But mostly it has to do with deep and perplexing ideas and thoughts that require my attention.

You may get this a lot. It’s not daydreaming. It’s more like day-thinking. People might express concern for you. Others might believe you are in shock. Still others might think you’re just being rude. But being distant is a part of this territory.

“I’m sorry, I was somewhere else.”
That usually takes care of it.
Or if someone asks, “What are you thinking about?”
I say something like, “The meaning of life.”

The fact is I often am. And they’re never sure if I’m serious or joking.
But it doesn’t matter because these thoughts are mine, they are important to me, and I need to figure things out even if I’m with others at the time.
So sometimes I am distant.

If you’d like to own all of my Sophia drawings, which include the story behind each one, you can buy my book, The Liberation of Sophia here

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