Zoning In, Not Zoning Out.

Picture this: the relentless noise of the world fades, your heartbeat slows, and for just a few seconds, you’re wrapped in a quiet, mental cocoon. That’s what these staring spells are for me—a brief escape from the chaos. It’s not about disconnecting from reality; it’s about finding a place within it where I can actually breathe. A place where the volume is finally turned down.

But then, there’s the inevitable jolt back to reality. You know that feeling when you’re yanked out of a deep sleep full of blissful dreams by the blare of an unfamiliar alarm clock? Those seconds of disoriented "where am I and how did I get here" panic is what I feel like if someone snaps me out of one of staring sessions. It’s sensory whiplash and my nervous system doesn't appreciate it.

Over the years, I’ve had plenty of people—teachers, colleagues, random strangers—catch me in what they assume is a daydream, my eyes locked on something, or maybe nothing at all. But I’m not zoning out; I’m zoning in. In the hectic hustle of life, these moments of staring are my way to hit the reset button. It’s a way to catch my breath, to bring the noise down to a level where I can think straight, if only for a moment.

So, this isn’t just about zoning out—it’s about survival. It’s about finding a moment of calm in a world that often feels like it’s on the verge of overwhelming me. And... please don't be the person to interrupt this moment of solitude. Trust me, I've earned it.