The Playground Philosopher

Time Space Warp #36

Hey—It’s Toffer.

My six-year-old son is the undisputed champion of playground stillness. Other kids run, scream, climb—he finds a spot, claims it like a philosopher staking his place on a rock, and stays there. The entire time. No movement, no engagement. Just… existing. It’s as if he’s contemplating the mysteries of the sandbox while everyone else is launching themselves off the monkey bars like stunt doubles.

I get it. Because I was him.

---

Estimated read time: 4 minutes

---

I’ve always been an introvert—not the shy kind, not the awkward kind—just the kind that genuinely enjoys being alone. Not because I had to be, but because that’s where I felt most alive.

Which, growing up, was a bit of a problem.

I never had my own room. Ever. I shared a bed with my siblings, slept in the middle like a human divider, and mastered the art of falling asleep in whatever space was left for me. Privacy? A myth. Alone time? Nonexistent. The idea of having a room to myself was so foreign it might as well have been a fairy tale. I didn’t dream of luxury—I just dreamed of space.

So I hunted for it. The bathroom? A sanctuary. Locking the door and pretending I was deep in thought, when really, I was just enjoying the silence. The farthest corner of the house? Mine. Family parties? You’d find me in the least crowded room, quietly existing while everyone else was socializing.

People assumed I was avoiding things. I wasn’t. I was just recharging.

See, that’s the thing about introverts. We don’t hate people. We just process things differently. While extroverts feel energized by interaction, introverts get their energy before interaction. We need to gather our thoughts, sit in our own space, let our ideas simmer—then we can go out into the world. But if we don’t get that space? We start to shut down.

Of course, the world doesn’t always get that. It rewards the loud, the outgoing, the team players. Schools push group projects. Offices have ditched walls in favor of “collaborative workspaces” (translation: maximum distractions). Meetings have replaced actual work. Meanwhile, the quiet ones—who do their best thinking alone—are often overlooked.

But here’s the wild part—introverts often make better leaders. They listen more. They take calculated risks. They let others shine. Meanwhile, the extroverts? They’re out there confidently leading brainstorming sessions about ideas they just came up with on the spot.

So I think about my son on the playground. The world might expect him to climb higher, run faster, engage more. But maybe—just maybe—he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. Maybe he’s gathering his thoughts, observing, letting his imagination do the work.

Because for people like us, stillness isn’t emptiness—it’s where all the best ideas begin.

Your Friend in Time,
Toffer

---

PS: If this hit home, you’d love Susan Cain’s Quiet. It’s basically the introvert’s battle cry—whispered, of course.