Solitude (Or, Where Nobody Knows My Name)
Solitude. It’s a word; a state of being; a fictitious bar where a hero learns about himself; a welcome respite. Like almost anything, Solitude could be many things, depending on context.
There are times when I crave Solitude. I love having friends and having an active social life, but sometimes I just want to wind down and talk to myself for a bit, see how I’m doing. I like to write, or paint, or play a video game, and usually the best way for me to do that is by being alone, because all sorts of magical things happen when I’m by myself. Sides of me that I want no one to see take the opportunity to come out and play; they make their mark on my private writing projects, on my daydreams, on my canvas, even on my energy. Solitude can be a very liberating thing.
The old adage is true in most cases – too much of a good thing is bad. Too much Solitude, for instance, can be detrimental. All that time spent alone, being forced to confront yourself and those sides of you that you keep hidden from everyone else. They’re like guests that overstay their welcome, and you just wish someone would knock on your door unexpectedly so that those sides of you can retreat faster than Bruce Willis’ hairline.
I have been spending time with friends. I have been going out and doing my thing. I have been balancing my work with my play, and doing a good job of it. I got belay certified in rock climbing, I’m going to the gym, I’m even going to Club Cafe on a Tuesday night. Thing is, I’m not only doing it to seek fun – I’m also doing it to actively avoid Solitude. And it’s been a while since I had to do that.
Am I depressed? Certainly not. I’ve got a lot to be happy about, actually. It’s just that there’s a lot of uncertainty in my life right now, and Solitude has a nasty way of rubbing it in my face. It grabs me by the hair and plunges my face into a tub of viscous salt water, where lying at the bottom I can see all the questions plaguing me. Will I find a job soon? Will I stay in Boston? Will I move to Beirut? Will I be happy there? Will I be accepted? Will people find my Westernized charms more of a nuisance? Will Solitude follow me there?
And in that tub of water, I desperately bob for apples – but there’s one apple in particular that I want. It’s floating just out of my range of vision. I can’t turn my head because Solitude won’t let go of my hair, but I know it’s there – I caught a glimpse as my face careened towards the water, propelled by Solitude’s vicious grip. That apple is the one that will put Solitude back in line and stop it from overstepping its boundaries, and I’ll no longer have to avoid it. The other apples – friends, family, social life, self-fulfillment – I already got a taste of those, and they’re very sweet. I love them. I would never trade them for anything. But that one apple… I just want a bite out of that one, to add it to the collection of pleasant tastes in my mouth and in my life.
I’m lonely, and I want the apple of my eye.
