On Grumps and Recluses

For whatever reason, I think a lot about time spent alone. Perhaps it's because I've done a lot of it in my time. I'm not sure. It's comfortable for me. I guess it makes sense that it would be, given that I had divorced parents and went from one house to another every three days. When there's no one point on a map that constitutes home at a given point in time, and when one is always surrounded by different people, one learns to be chameleon-like, and flexible. I don't know if this is good - and wish sometimes that I could be more set in my ways, or have my "ways" be less numerous, or even be more clear on what my "ways" are - but it has its applications.

Living in multiple places makes one aware of his or her ability to be happy in different conditions, and around different people, and in different environments. This makes life easier, because one realizes that he or she will never really be unable to cope with whatever environment happens to exist around the self at the moment; but it also makes certain things harder. When one option seems as doable as another option, in terms of career or location or surroundings, the act of deciding proves difficult. I feel like I've learned to look at situations from all angles, but the problem is that I think I can find merit in just about anything, and that means that I want to devote adequate time to a number of things; and, of course, if I devote time to a number of things, none of this time will be in any way at all adequate.

Perhaps this is why it feels so good to indiscriminately get rid of stuff and rule out options just for the sake of simplification. I take great pleasure in selling records that I don't listen to anymore, just because of the space it creates in my room. I take pleasure in realizing that I prioritize one thing over another thing, just because it is so often the case that I can't do this, and will instead talk myself into pursuing multiple avenues at once. I'd rather do nothing than do too many things half-assedly; and i certainly don't want to wind up doing nothing. Ruling out options means committing to doing something more wholly and less half-assedly, and I consider this a good thing.

I've digressed. Something occurred to me while I was on my bike the other day. The sun was going down, and the sky was past the point of sunset and in the midst of that weird interim phase where it looks almost grey. This is irrelevant, but I can picture the color of it, so it seems worth writing down. Here's what occurred to me: Society seems to frequently perceive the recluse as somebody who has shunned society - someone who dislikes human interaction and has given up on it. But it seems that this might be a huge misconception in some cases. At times, I seek solitude, and there is something that always holds true about these particular times: They are times in which I consider human interaction to be something extremely important, yet in which I feel that I should avoid it for some reason. The reason is never anything like me deciding to write of friendships, or me having become so fed up with socialization that I have decided that I am better off alone. Usually it's something else: Perhaps I will feel that I have become spread too thin, and want to take time out to refuel so that I feel I have more to offer to my friends when I do see them; or perhaps I have been hugely effected by some social interaction, and want to fully understand it and mentally digest it before moving on with my social life, such as one might do after a break up; or perhaps I feel the need to work on things in my own life so that I'm not placing the burden of my own happiness on other people, as I think one tends to do when one spends too much time being social and not enough time on oneself. Additionally, I think it's good to be alone once in a while to remind oneself that one can be happy alone, because then social interactions take on the quality of being a bonus - the icing on the cake - rather than something necessary. I'd rather treat the people around me as wonderful additions to my life, rather than necessary ingredients, because it protects their autonomy and lets them trust in my motives when it comes to why I am their friend. None of these reasons for solitude are in any way indicative of a dislike for company or companionship or the social world in general, but they are testaments to just how valuable all of the aforementioned are to the individual, and they are indicative of a desire to have utmost respect for others by way of having respect for the self and not holding others responsible for this respect. In this way, one is able to better appreciate others.

I wonder if all of the Scrooges of the world just had hearts bigger than they knew what to do with - hearts of sizes so big that the only possible culprit could be a love for humanity itself... Maybe a love for humanity so great that the awareness of how difficult it could be to reconcile that kind if an idealism with the real world would just be too much to bear. Grumpiness seems often an indicator of some underlying sensitivity and vulnerability. That's where benefit-of-the-doubt comes in; and forgiveness. Some people don't deal with people well, but I don't think it always means that they don't care. In fact, I'd be willing to bet that more often than not it's the opposite. I'm a big fan of spending time alone, and I'm a big fan of benefit-of-the-doubt. I'm a fan of grumps, too.