Mental Note

"Some things in life you must do on your own," he said to a motherless, childless only child. I let my father speak his peace, responding with no more than a slight nod of my head.

I write these words tonight not for sympathy, not because I’m having an emo-moment, not to lash out or bitch, gripe or complain. I write to clear my head, mostly. To have the ability to read back at some future date. Sort of a way of checking up on myself, I guess. Call it a sanity check, if you will. And as alone as I might feel right now, I am not. The alone thing is a feeling I perpetually perceive to tackle. Real or imaginary.

I’ve been well-acquainted with the solitiary life since I was a kid. Countless hours spent in the creek at the base of the ravine behind my childhood home, fishing with a net for salamanders that would eventually end up whirling around the ceramic bowl to their final destination. Alone, carving "seats" in the dirt on the bank by the water, covering them in moss that I harvested from halfway up the hill. Two seats. The extra one being for whomever I could coax to join me, if only for a little while. Up the hill on the other side of the creek was another wonderland for a little kid with a big imagination. The second phase of my subdivision still under construction, full of materials. Give an 8-year old a hammer and nails, a stapler, some elastic and paint, add some building material scraps and there you have it. I could make just about anything I desired. Ok, so the 2x4 high heels were more than a little crude and less than sturdy, but this girl couldn't care less. I wore them anyway.

As time passed, the loneliness began to fade at some point and became solitude. Peaceful moments spent creating or just simply being alone with my mind, at ease in my skin. These moments have become vital for me to maintain my sanity. Places that that slow my spinning head. A special rock down by the river, a hammock hanging from the ceiling, a mountaintop spot on a rock wall, a quiet bench, getting lost in my art studio, a cozy firepit in a quiet backyard.

Chance, opportunity, gamble, risk. Persevere, insist, adapt, resolve. Confuse, experiment, fault, exhaust. I’ve done ‘em all. Alone. Not without fear, but without pause. Direction not constant, not always lucid. In ceaseless motion I remain.

Unaccompanied. Unaided. Single-handedly. On-your-own. Alone. It’s what I do. It’s what I’ve done.

Why does it feel so different now?

“I was lost then and I’m lost now
And I doubt I’ll ever know which way to go.”
-Broken Bells, “Vaporize”