For a social creature, I am remarkably solitary; for a solitary being, I am remarkably sociable.
I am married with two children, ages six and four. With the hectic schedules including staggered work hours, homemaking responsibilities, school, extracurricular activities, and sleep, it's a challenge to find time devoted purely to the pleasure of the four of us being together as a family. It is an even greater challenge for my wife and me to escape without our offspring for a few hours together. Possibly the greatest challenge of all is to schedule some quality time to myself, alone. The quality of that time is not necessarily determined by how the time is spent (reading a book, napping, watching a movie), but rather can that time be dedicated to, and isolated from, thoughts which do not centre on my own needs? Despite being alone, is there stress being created as a result of the chores which still wait to be completed? Will I hear whispers from the dishes in the sink, the carpet that is not being vacuumed, supper which is not being prepared? At what point during my time alone will I need to glance at the clock as it counts down the hours and minutes before the rest of my life returns?
I believe everybody needs time as an island. I don't believe we are all born requiring the same amount of isolation from the rest of the world. I have many friends who, after what I would consider a short period of time by themselves, crave sociality. Genetically, I am at the other end of the spectrum. Even as a child, I found comfort in the silent isolation of after-school detention (maybe that's why I had such a mouth on me). Some of my earliest memories are of being at peace with my early bedtime; I would lie in my room as the summer breeze puffed at my Richard Scarry curtains, listening to the waning sounds of my older siblings in the backyard as the sun set. I would run my bare foot along my wallpaper (also a Busytown motif), pressing my toes against the printed emergency vehicles and occasionally poking at a seam in the pattern as the glue began to show its years.
As I grew older my hermetical tendencies never diminished. I was interested in calligraphy, which I would practice alone in my room. I would spend hours listening to music through headphones, air drumming as a member of the band, or lip-syncing in silence, holding a deodorant stick or hairspray can (I did my part to create that hole in the ozone layer, to be sure). I was a dreamer.
As an adult, little has changed, except that I am now more aware of that inner voice (and I no longer use hairspray). The irony is that often though my initial preference may be to remain at home rather than attend a celebration, once I'm out and about, I'm often the first to engage strangers in conversation, and end up being surprised by own enjoyment of the evening's entertainment. Ultimately, though, what I entertain most, are thoughts of time alone.
There are aspects of my personality that I am (slowly) fighting to overcome. For instance, I am not a "doer". When a toilet is leaking, or the grass needs cutting, or the mouldings need gluing, I initially see these responsibilities as impediments to the fun I could otherwise be having. I am (slowly!) convincing myself to embrace those tasks, not as obstacles, but as steps to improving my surroundings and lifestyle, as well as activities I can share shoulder to shoulder (sometimes eyelash to eyelash) with my growing children. My DNA makes it very difficult to begin any activity (writing included) which doesn't revolve around playfulness or relaxation. However, my strength of will is becoming more disciplined. I'm (sllloooowwwllllyyy) understanding the ends justify the means; the "ends" also include the feeling of satisfaction which accompanies the completion of any task - such as a blog entry.
I still revel in the time spend in mental limbo, be it reading, or long-distance driving. I don't know that I will ever - even when I am alone - feel lonely. Perhaps I should embrace this aspect of my personality as a blessing. I know there are many people who have little choice where loneliness is concerned. Their effort is conferred not seeking refuge, but companionship. Each of us spends ironic moments envying the perceived advantages of the other; one wishing for a community, the other for an island, and both for moments which bring to them their own variety of peace.
I have been alone for the past hour, composing this post. My son just sauntered in, all four-and-a-half feet of him. He's sitting on the floor, a few feet from me, constructing a tower and slide for his marbles. Would I rather he weren't here? That I not hear his little voice as he talks himself through the assembly? No. He looks so small from where I sit, and that smallness is fleeting, as will be his desire to show daddy his marble tower and slide. Besides, tonight, after my children are asleep, I can read a few more pages of a novel, or lose myself in a movie. Then, I too will sleep and recharge my mental engine, for tomorrow I'm painting the deck.
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