Good to meet you
The soft language of knowing who isn’t for you
I am somewhere between an introvert and an extrovert. I thrive on human connection, conversation and learning people’s stories. It makes me feel alive and present. However, I equally value time spent by myself, doing the things I love with no compromise or justification. There are only a small handful of people I can spend time with and not feel as though my cup is less full afterwards. That is no reflection on how much I like their company or them as a person – it is simply that socialising takes energy, even when it is good.
When you begin to value your alone time as highly as your time with others, something shifts. You become more discerning. Being by yourself is no longer a fallback, it is a baseline. And so, being with others has to meet or exceed that feeling. Otherwise, it quietly doesn’t feel worth it. It sounds harsh when written down, but it feels honest when lived.
I could never fit the people I love spending time with into a neat category. They are too varied for that – different interests, different energies, different ways of moving through the world. But through trial, error and learning to trust my intuition, I have become quite good at recognising the people who feel easy, the ones who feel like a natural yes.
And perhaps even more quickly, I can recognise the opposite. The people where something feels slightly off from the start, and only drifts further away from alignment as time goes on. I always allow space for first impressions to soften, for awkwardness to dissolve. But when the awkwardness is the most comfortable part of the interaction, it tends to tell you everything you need to know.
This is where language becomes interesting. I realised there is a quiet but meaningful difference between saying “nice to meet you” and “good to meet you”.
“Nice” carries warmth. It suggests enjoyment, ease, a moment you would happily revisit. It implies that something about the interaction felt light and pleasant, regardless of how long it lasted.
But “good” is more ambiguous. Softer on the surface, yet more expansive underneath. When I say “it was good to meet you”, it does not always mean I enjoyed it. Sometimes it simply means it served a purpose. That I learnt something. That I understood something more clearly – about them, or about myself.
I met someone recently who left me feeling completely drained. The kind of interaction where you find yourself mentally stepping back, counting the moments until it ends. I do not like to offend people, but I also do not like to betray my own instincts. So when we parted ways, I could not say it was “nice” to meet them. That would not have been true. However, it was “good” to meet them, because I now know they are not someone I want to spend more time with – and that is valuable. It allows me to protect my time and energy in the future.
By framing it this way, you create a positive and discreet way to honour your feelings without being unkind. You avoid offending the other person while still staying true to yourself. Your intuition has told you something, and instead of dismissing it, you subtly reinforce it through your words. There is a quiet power in that.
In a world where our intuition is constantly challenged, it is important to support how we feel with what we say and how we act. It is the only way to build trust in yourself and your ability to choose the people you want to spend your time with.
And perhaps that is the real point. Not whether it was nice, or even good, but whether you listened.