I love humans, but sometimes the constant noise of our world is too much for me.

The world is a big place and there’s a lot going on. Some days it seems like everything is coming at once.

From music, people talking on the radio, Kanye West did this, Donald Trump did that, it's a constant stream of noise. Buy this new product, watch this show on Netflix--what do you mean you haven’t seen Stranger Things?

The pressure to always be in constant contact with everyone on every social media platform.

To go on unbelievable vacations, ace all of your classes, and have your life figured out all at one time.

This is the bizarre, unrealistic, fictionalized set of expectations that many of us have as millennials.

Thanks to social media, it seems like everyone is ten steps ahead in life while we’re struggling to find a matching pair of socks. It’s disheartening and lonely.

I love dogs for this exact reason--they are completely oblivious and immune to the chaos that is life.

Dogs don’t care if they don’t keep up with media. Dogs don’t think “I don’t have my life figured out.” Life is food and naps and playing and kisses from their humans.

There’s not much to figure out if you’re a dog. For this reason, I envy my dog.

There are days when my dog’s loyalty and companionship make all the difference in my world.

But dogs can’t talk back.

So what do you do when the world is too noisy yet you still crave language?

Personally, I put my faith and trust into books. They’re a constant in my life.

One of my best childhood memories comes from reading Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

I remember how I stayed in my room, surrounded with pillows and blankets until I’d finished the book.

In this memory, the house was quiet. My mom was probably in another room doing whatever things moms do while their children are engrossed in books.

I was alone, but I was not lonely.

My mind was in another world filled with magic, dragons, sports played on broomsticks, and loyal, unwavering friendship.

One feeling that I’ve learned well is the feeling of not wanting a book to end.

You know, of course, that the book will have to end at some point; you can feel the weight of the pages favoring the left side of the binding, the right side is becoming thinner, and the story is coming along to resolution.

Whether it’s the first or the twenty-first time you’ve read the book, the feeling is present.

Maybe you put the book down for a little, grab a snack or take a walk, not because you’re hungry but to delay the inevitable.

It’s a bittersweet experience; your heart is torn, crying tears of joy that such a work of art exists and that you are holding it in your hands, and tears of loss that can only come from losing such a dear, old friend.

You gather yourself together and brave through it. There, it’s done, you think.

And you take time to soak in the feelings: gratitude for the writer and their imagination, longing for the characters who only moments ago were so real and captivating, yet with the turn of a page have disappeared.

If you have an affinity for books, this experience will happen many, many times throughout your life.

And it will never get easier. It will never lose its novelty.

Your constant friend will always be there to re-visit again. All you need to do is turn the page.