Hi.
Coffee: Breakfast Blend, Trader Joe’s Brand
I had the house to myself today. It was a strange feeling.
My roommates and I have known each other for 15 years. We’re good enough friends to not feel pressured to spend time together, and there are many days that I don’t so much as say ‘hi’ to them. That said, it’s a different feeling to be in the apartment and know that you’re alone.
R is on a trip to the mountains. E is away with friends. As far as I know, they’re happy and healthy. As far as they know, so am I.
And I have been happy and healthy today, eating well, taking a walk around the block to feel the pine pollen usher spring. It was a good day. Productive. I opened the deck doors to let the cool air in. I had one beer, not one-too-many.
But it still feels different being here by myself. The absence of familiar faces brings something eerie inside. A withered gray dog that sleeps in the darkest corner and moves to another room when you try to touch it. There’s a palpability to solitude that I’m not used to. In all honesty, I’ve never really lived alone.
The closest I got were two years in the dormitories at Duke. I lucked out on a single my Freshman year and again for my Junior. But even then I was living in a building with a bunch of other classmates. We shared a single bathroom and there was always someone in the halls.
When I was a kid, I used to dream of living alone. Having my own space, no-one to bother me. And more recently, I’ve thought of buying property, both to root me somewhere and build a bit of equity. But on days like this where the late winter mixes it’s hair over spring’s shoulder, and the gray clouds threaten all day to rain down but never do, I wonder if I’ve got the fortitude for true alone-ness – the stomach to stare down the gray old dog in the corner; the composure to let it watch me from the darkest angles of my home.
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Solitude is fine but you need someone to tell that solitude is fine.
Honore de Balzac
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