The diary of almost everything

Not everyone wants the front seat. Some of us choose the edges. Not because we’re unsure, but because we like the view.

I’ve always gravitated toward the margins. At meetings, in social settings, on literal seating charts, give me a corner and I’ll thrive. Unless, of course, there’s a prize involved. Then I’m suddenly an extrovert with competitive flair and zero shame.

It’s strange, really. I have opinions. Plenty. And I can talk.
With friends, I’m often clear and outspoken, no problem sharing what I think.
But even then, I know it’s just an opinion. I don’t need to win.
Sometimes, it matters more to listen. To hear people out. To make space.
But stepping into the spotlight? That still doesn’t feel natural.
Even now, when I tell people what I do for work, they sometimes blink at me.
“You? But you’re so… calm. Quiet.”
And yes, while I lead meetings and make decisions and handle things, I’m also very aware of how many eyeballs are watching. If I could duck behind the agenda, I might.

I’ve never minded not being center stage. But I’ve often wondered if that makes me seem less ambitious. Less capable. Less something.
It’s not insecurity, exactly. It’s more like… an allergy to performative confidence.
I’d rather be competent than loud. Present than performative.

As a child, I was shy and new things scared me.
I often needed a gentle push to cross the first threshold.
But even while I hesitated, I was watching. Closely.
I noticed tones, glances, the energy in a room.
I studied people the way some kids studied dinosaurs.
Still, people often mistook my silence for something else, like not being smart.
And yes, that left a few scratches on the mental vinyl.
But I kept noticing. I still do.
Only now, I know how to turn those observations into stories.

I used to psych myself up with a kind of mental megaphone.
“You got this. Say the thing. Smile like you mean it.”
It worked… mostly. But sometimes I still wish I had a socially acceptable cardboard cutout of myself to send in my place.

And yet, I’m not afraid of responsibility. I lead. I guide. I manage tricky conversations and difficult people. I just don’t always want to be seen while doing it.

Call it backseat leadership. The kind where you’re not driving, but you are holding the snacks, the playlist, and the Google Maps.
Vital, but quiet.

I’m not claiming moral superiority here, I just think the backseat deserves a little more love.
Because it’s where the best observations happen. Where you learn to listen. Where you find patterns. Where you realize that you don’t have to be the loudest to be effective.

Of course, I sometimes wonder where this came from. Was it all those moments growing up when I felt underestimated? Did I develop this observational habit as a way to stay safe? Or maybe it’s just my natural wiring, soft-spoken but sharply tuned.

Whatever it is, I’ve stopped seeing it as something to overcome.
This isn’t about becoming louder. It’s about trusting that your way of showing up, even quietly, still matters.

So here’s to the ones in the backseat. The watchers. The deep thinkers. The ones with sharp intuition and soft voices. You may not grab the mic, but when you speak, people listen.

– Sophie Quinn