I spend a lot of time just observing people. It’s free, educational and endlessly absurd. You can notice a lot, especially when you’re not glued to a screen crafting a digital version of yourself. It’s where you see the difference between noise and presence. And that’s where the power in quiet shows up—gentle, steady, completely unimpressed with the need to perform.

Most people seem stuck in this race to be noticed. Talking more, reacting bigger, dressing louder. It’s less communication, more stage show.

All flash, no point.

All performance… and bad acting

There’s this need to be noticed.

To be impressive.

To be liked by strangers who don’t actually care.

And what’s behind all of it? Insecurity, mostly. Fear of being ordinary. Fear of being unseen.

Because loud people love to talk about themselves.

They dominate conversations like they’re running for office, even though no one asked them to.

That reminds me of something: A little dog that barks too much isn’t tough, it’s scared.

And yes, people are the same.

The less you say, the more your words will matter. That’s quiet of strength.

Power in quiet isn’t mystery – it’s mastery

The people who get it know that less is more. They’ve figured out how to exist without turning everything into a performance.

They don’t shout their worth—they live it. In calm, in confidence, in a kind of stillness that makes noise look ridiculous.

Silence speaks, always. Not the awkward kind.

The kind that lets people know you don’t need a microphone to be heard.

Choosing silence is choosing control

Now I say less. I don’t explain my choices.

I don’t try to impress anyone.

Not because I’m mysterious or enlightened—mostly because it’s peaceful. And once you get used to that kind of peace, noise starts to feel like a disturbing vibration.

Some people are desperate to be fireworks—loud, explosive, impossible to miss.

Let them.

I’d rather be the candle.

Fireworks are gone in seconds. The candle just keeps burning.