lone wolf

I'm completely alone.

The wife has gone away to her ancestral family retreat at Granite Lake, and I'm left to my own devices.  She's only gone for a few days, and I'm watching my mom's dog, but...still.  It's an eerie sensation for someone used to constant companionship (Indy is getting on in years, and isn't quite the hoot to be around he once was).

The last time I felt this way, I made a blog about it.  Bachelor for a Month was a lot of things (chief amongst them:  absolutely hilarious) but it lacked a certain ennui, and was pretty darn optimistic.  This bachelor-for-a-few-days has traded in his joie de vivre for something more like a scholar's malaise.  You can't stay a student forever; not even a student of life.

I took Indy for a walk today, and the particular light of the sun through the leaves was pretty peaceful.  I was enjoying the sensation immensely, but inevitably someone had to wander by, distracting me with a few friendly words.  I don't resent the intrusion, it's not as though I dislike people in general, but their presences disrupted what had become a fine community with nature.

I'm completely alone, and still I crave solitude.

I didn't really experience solitude the last time she left me to myself.  I got together with friends every single night she was gone, and I had a blast.  This time's only for a few days, and my calendar is already filling up again.  But right now, for these few hours, it is dark, and it is quiet, and I have only my voice for company.

Once, I was more terrified of being alone than anything.  Or, more precisely, being left alone -- of people forgetting me to the point that I may as well not exist.  Well, that's a silly fear, I know now; there are always more people to talk to.  Everybody's lonely, to some extent, and eager to find someone else to share the burden.

That's the trick, isn't it?  Searching for that one thing that'll bandage the wound, fill the void, heal your pain, and enable your happiness.  Instinct and experience together tell me that it's human nature to believe such a magic potion awaits in all of our lives, if only we have the moxie and stick-to-itiveness to go out there and find it.  But maybe we're all corrupted by the magic of advertising, poisoned by the end result of millions of man-hours bent on convincing us that we aren't happy.  How could we be, when there are so many things we still don't have?

So we search, and fight, and pursue, whatever the heck it is we've identified can finally give us peace.  Those with the best luck never quite get there, but spend their lives in the pursuit of our dreams.  Those with the worst luck achieve them, and what then?  Do they just find another reason to be unhappy, and work to remedy that?  It never ends.  A life where you achieve all your dreams is a life without purpose.  You know, assuming dreams impart purpose to begin with.

I'm completely alone, but no worse off than if I weren't.

The dog was so excited to go on his walk, he was shaking.  He was jumping up and down, giddy with glee.  He pulled at the leash the entire way, so overjoyed to be out in the world, smelling everything, learning, living.  He barked and dashed and pooped and smiled!  He was in his element.  He did everything he knows how to do out there, and then I brought him home.  Now he's lying on the ground, staring at me.  I threw a ball for him to catch, but he wasn't interested.  He's old, and I think he just wants to sleep.

I wish he could talk.  I wish he could tell me what he's learned in life.  I wish I could understand why, when I say the word "WALK," all the hours and days and months of empty staring just melt away, and he's a puppy again.  But all he can do is stare at me.  And when I sit on the couch and read, eventually he wanders over and places his head on the couch.  He wants me to pet him, so I do.

And neither of us has to be completely alone.