I’m consumed in Durga Chew-Bose’s Too Much and Not the Mood. Essentially a collection of stream of consciousness essays, I find myself more often than not positioned in coffee shops throughout the South Bay as the sun takes it’s place, reading as much as I can before the guilt of my absence at the office sinks in. I read. I highlight. I take notes. I sit back, mentally say whoa. I read more.
“Nook people are those of us who need solitude, but also the sound of someone puttering in the next room.”
Nook People. We finally have a word. For those of us who awake in an empty home on the weekends with discomfort and quickly shuffle out the door because being alone amongst strangers is often better than being alone at home. For those who wait for a seat in the corner. For those who crave to dip in and out of focus of the sounds and sights surrounding them. Who notice the only thing differentiating alone and all-one is the letter L. Relief relaxes my shoulders as I put down the book and crane my neck to see the the people below, having gravitated to eat my lunch on an upper patio…my nook.
I carry my newfound identity with pride. I tell friends, but only close friends, because Nook People like to keep an unearthing to themselves. As if we’ve found a secret the rest of the world is still searching for. Nook people will interact with others, realizing only at noon that they haven’t spoken a word all morning. They notice the detail in the brick walls slowly chipping away and they find the spot of warm sun in the grass that’s a little too far away from the shade where the others are. But this view is better and the subtle strike of the sun on their skin puts them to sleep. Nook people climb a mountain to stare at the valley below, as opposed to the peaks on the other side. They contemplate their smallness and how nooks make them feel smaller, but in an inclusive way.