I'm trying to decide if I would ever be a recluse.
I feel certain the answer would be a resounding "No!"
There is something to peace and quiet. To the restfulness of solitude. I enjoy being alone, with a good book, or in the sanctuary of a bubble bath with the strains of The Moldau playing in the background. (I adore the romantic era composers.)
I think of those peaceful moments and wonder just how long I could survive all that peace. There must be a reason that solitary confinement has often been a punishment. I think perhaps we were all meant for a little chaos. The outward collision results in greater enjoyment of internal peace. I appreciate the rare occasions of bubble baths and candles more, when I am retreating from something.
And as a side note, I am learning more and more that waving the white flag is more than okay. It's how you maintain health. Retreat is an underrated word in my vocabulary and I'm making attempts to resolve that.
I haven't found too many friends that enjoy writing like myself, immersing themselves in written communication. I could get lost for hours. I've been considering how much I would enjoy a pen pal. Someone you could engage with thoughts about life. A heart you could hear and understand from the lost art of words on a page. I think we say more when we are not face to face. I think we feel more able to express those deep feelings, and upon expression, connection and deep intimacy is born, even if you never physically meet the person. Two kindred spirits, retreating, yet connecting.
In theory, I think it would be a beautiful way to spend a lifetime of friendship.
But I'm certain I would still need a friend to meet for cornbread.
No comments:
Post a Comment