I’ve talked about my hotel life before, but today reminded me why I travel with a box fan. As I checked in, a girl behind me snickered to her boyfriend, mocking me for carrying it. “Who does she think she is?” she said. “What would you need that for?” I didn’t respond. I just smiled and headed to my room. Because you know what I can’t hear with my fan on? Her attitude. That steady hum drowns out judgment, noise, and nonsense. I’ll be in my room, doing my quiet, “dull” things, wrapped in white noise and peace. Just the way I like it.
I used to feel self-conscious about the fan. It’s bulky, old, and definitely not chic. But it’s my comfort. It’s the sound of home when I’m far from it.
People assume it’s weird, or dramatic, or unnecessary. But they don’t know what it’s like to need silence that isn’t silent—just steady, soothing, and mine.
That girl’s laughter didn’t sting. It just reminded me how little people understand about what makes others feel safe. Her mockery was loud. My fan was louder—in the best way.
I’ve built a life around small comforts. A fan, a routine, a quiet room. It’s not glamorous, but it’s mine. And I won’t apologize for it.
So laugh if you want. I’ll be behind my closed door, fan humming, world muted. And I’ll sleep better than anyone judging me from the hallway.
