Tuesday, April 17, 2012
it's all in my head
I sip my coffee and delve in to this morning's tasks. Neon page markers and writing; long lists of changes and a looming afternoon. My hastily chosen outfit and madly swept up hair feel out of place, as if I'm not at home in my own body. I sit here and shuffle a stack of paper, listen to the clicking keys, and it hits me; I feel...alone. I actually feel it.
It was Buddha who stated, "Nothing ever exists entirely alone; everything is in relation to everything else.” But then, one might speculate whether Buddha was referring to people or trees. As I write this, I can not help but wonder if I was made for the latter: quiet forests, solitude, and oneness. I do like people, and even crave the company on occasion. But in truth I'm not that good at keeping up. Somehow, I always feel a little bit out of step, even when I don't want to be.
Maybe this comes from force of habit. I've been single for far more time than I've been in any sort of relationship, and I've been a recluse as long as I can remember. While my sisters played games in the other room, I would sit on my bed and read. My classmates played tag with each other...and chased me away from the game. I have better friends than most are blessed with, but none of them live close to me, so even my best relationships are experienced through distance. As I've grown older, my attempts at deep communion with others, when they have ended, have ended poorly. During the deepest expressions of my heart came the worst forms of rejection. I learned self sufficiency as a young girl because I had to, and over time it became subconscious and automatic. A little while after that, it became my preference. Solitude is strength for me, so even when I am not alone, I feel it, because at the end of the day: I am. Happy for the most part, comfortable all the time, and lonely on occasion, I make more sense to me when I am by myself. I do not know how to react to most relational situations, because almost all of them are new to me. This is an easier reality to talk about than to experience. Especially because my fine line between craving people and solitude sits as an invisible trip wire for others. I hurt people a lot.
I have come to realize something about myself. I am not unlikeable, I'm bad at relationships. Sure, my elementary school rejections have effected my current behaviors, but my long-chosen patterns have restricted me as well. Ask anyone who knows me: I keep people out. Perhaps I am my name after all. Of the ash tree forest; meant to stand quietly between sky and earth.