I can’t decide if I want to be alone, or with somebody. I don’t even mean whether I want to be single or in a relationship; I mean do I want to isolate myself from other people, or do I want to engage myself in conversation at the tea shop, do I want to small talk with people at work. It is so strongly tempting to draw back, to still be among others but separate, quiet, observing. Why would I want to do that to myself? Why would I deny myself the enjoyment of friends, of getting to know what somebody did that weekend or what they thought of the movie “Dan in Real Life?” I could still listen in on their conversations with other people, but I wouldn’t have to share myself. I wouldn’t have to share myself. Interesting choice of words.
Becoming a solitarian carries with it a kind of romance, something that …this no longer interests me. Now I’m thinking about going for morning walks down Theodore Wirth Parkway, the crisp mornings, the stillness of the trees. I suppose there would be birds singing, and squirrels bouncing over the wet grass. Would it inspire me? Would it become one of my favorite moments of the day? Nothing is stopping me from getting up, putting on my shoes and my coat and heading out. Yeah, let’s do it!
I’m still sitting here, drinking tea and talking to myself. I keep wishing to discover something here, in the solitude of my living room with the sunrise cresting the rooflines and trees in my east-facing windows, and seeing the Others walking their dogs, jogging, pushing strollers. Watching the others. Another interesting choice of words. They are like me, but separate. Maybe that’s what I find so terrifying about other people. To know that they dreamt last night of being late for class or about the last argument they had at work, to know that they went shopping with a friend to buy that pink windbreaker and now they pull it on each morning as they go jogging to hopefully lose some of that weight that makes them loath themselves, or makes them realize their body is aging and they don’t want to succumb to the inevitability of growing old, that’s what frightens and thrills me. We are little worlds orbiting each other. We can’t all possibly carry these inner lives, fears, loves, can we? What if I had ended up being one of them? But I landed in this body, in this house, in front of this laptop and drinking a cup of Nilgiri Woodlands Estate and wearing the old flannel shirt of my dead dad and wondering, do I want to be among others, or do I just want to be by myself? Do I want to go for a walk, or do I want to stay in this chair, waiting for something to happen?
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4 comments:
I read that the reason Thomas Jefferson decided to get back into politics and accept a run for the Presidency is because he realized that the more he was away from people--isolated in his Monticello--the more he began to dislike them.
I really enjoy your writings. I wish you had a follower button so I can follow your blog (makes it easier, else I'll lose your link).
Yup, we are little worlds. We are also big universes. The relation is on the individual living, I guess.
Interesting, I've never seen that before. I'll add it, but I'm guessing you'll be my only follower. I've got anonymous people that check this site out now and then (Ireland, California, St. Kates in Minnesota), but I suspect they like their anonymity.
Solitude does not demand for decisions.
I did not know this before reading the text. But after reading it, here is what I know: Solitude demans only one decision: The decision for solitude. After that life is calm and pleasant to pass.
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