I often carry things to read so that I will not have to look at the people.

The armor we call preference

There's something deeply honest about admitting you use a book or phone screen as a shield against human contact. Most of us do this without naming it—we scroll, we read, we find something to focus on rather than meet someone's eyes on the train or in a waiting room. It feels safer, more controlled. You get to decide the interaction rather than risk an awkward exchange or unwanted conversation.

But here's the twist: what Cooley captures isn't just about avoiding people. It's about avoiding the vulnerability of simply existing around others without a prop. When you're reading, you have a role—you're the absorbed person, the busy one, the focused individual. Without that book, you're just... there. And there's something mildly terrifying about that nakedness, even in public.

The real insight is that we often mistake this avoidance for preference. We tell ourselves we're introverted or thoughtful when sometimes we're just scared of the unscripted moment. Not everyone needs to chat with strangers, but recognizing when we're using distraction as armor rather than genuine escape is worth noticing. It's the difference between choosing solitude and just running from connection.