I’m feeling a little bit twitchy.
It’s partly from being stuck inside–although I’ve gone for a few walks to alleviate any cooped up feelings. I’ve been thinking maybe I should go for a drive. (I always feel a little guilty about going for a driving as opposed to driving somewhere. I don’t like to burn gas without cause, but I do like to drive.)
Mostly, I think I haven’t had enough time alone lately. That is the trouble when you live with people, whoever they may be. Sometimes it snows and you’re all stuck together. Sometimes they get sick and you work from home and you’re still stuck together.
I get along well with my family which is why the current arrangement works (although I’m not at all content for it continue for more than a few years–I do have goals). And it’s not like we’re suddenly at each other’s throats due to proximity. We all have doors to close. I’m just…twitchy.
I think much of it has to do with the fact that this is coming hard on the heels of the holiday season, so I never really had a proper opportunity to recharge. Instead, I’ve been staying up late(r than usual). I’ve done this since I was young. Even when you live with a group of people, it’s usually quiet at night. It’s almost like being alone. That bothers some people, but I love it.
Of course, staying up late has its drawbacks. And it doesn’t quite produce the right feeling of solitude.
Solitude is in part an effect of place and space, but I think it also has something to do with mentality. You can be quite alone in the city and feel hemmed in by society in the country, depending on how you do or don’t interact with people. The internet is like that, too. In a way, we’re never alone when we’re online. In another, we always are. Sometimes I read my social media without engaging–hitting the like button, sharing, or replying–and it’s a bit like I’m not there. I can just observe and mull about things.
Most of the time, of course, it’s a cacophony in which I participate. Which is usually the better thing, IRL and online. But sometimes I’d rather it be like a city where I don’t know anyone, where I can walk unhindered and enjoy a different sort of solitude.
As a society, I think we have trouble with people being alone. We see them as sad or friendless. But there’s a choice in being by yourself, too. Sometimes that too is a sad thing. But sometimes it’s an empowering thing, a freeing thing. I don’t want to be alone all the time, but it’s good, too, not to have to worry about people for a while. To be a distinct entity, momentarily divorced from relation to everything else.