Confessions of the Hermit Within

There is something absolutely inspiring about being alone.

I don't mean alone in the romantic sense, or people simply being around you, I mean being solitary. Sitting in a cafe' or a park watching passers by (the obviously newly in love couple, the teenagers who think they're older than they really are, the hoards of people walking by talking obliviously on their cell phones who make you wonder, "do I really look like that?"). I can't spend every waking moment with other people, something inside me starts to slowly die and at some point I begin wonder if I'm just a shell of the person I thought I was, or if this is the person I've become?

Tonight is very important, I'm spending the night alone in my house for the first time in a long while. For anyone who hasn't discovered it, your home is a very magical place to be alone. When I'm in a place with people constantly, every footstep, every banging of a dish in the sink resonates throughout my mind. When I'm alone, the house comes alive. The constant buzzing of the heater, the squirrels scampering on the roof, the occasional creek of the gate. They all become part of what feels like one, holistic, vibration which I've become a part of with every page I flip in my book or bubble boiling on the stove.

Let's be clear here, tonight I will be sad when I crawl into bed and Matt isn't there to wrap his arms around me until I feel sufficiently cuddled, in the morning I will miss the sounds of him singing (which he does no matter how bad of a mood he's in), and at some point tonight I will think of something very silly and be disappointed when he's not here to do something silly back ... but this isn't about that. This is about a state of consciousness, one only achieved when you stop for a moment, and in your stillness you know that even though you've stopped, the world isn't passing you by, you're just catching a glimpse of it.