Dear friend,
What does it mean to live a good, solitary life? Recently I had a conversation with Olen about the solitary lives led by the ‘modern career women’; and though I never thought of myself in this way, the concept of obligations and modernity do explain the situation I am in — living alone, surviving, trying to carve out space for both professional and personal work, counting down the days where I can re-unite with my loved ones again. Lest we die of COVID.
And with the changes we are experiencing in the world re: pandemic, I’m finding it harder and harder to stay tethered in my relationships, especially the romantic one. This is probably already familiar to you.
Given the combination of complications, familial drama and arbitrary dates stamped into my passport, I’ve reluctantly moved out of my familiar abode with partner and dogs, and set out on a long, bureaucratic journey to meet them again. To reframe this on a personal level: I’m setting out on the night sea journey to repair my relationship with myself. It’s funny how we have to leave someone in order to go back to them. It’s also funny that I’m going further away from who I know myself to be to see if I can find who I ‘truly’ am. Trust me, I’m laughing at the irony of all this.
Reflecting on all the spaces that envelop my being, I realised that I’ve done well with the physical component — always protecting my personal space, always soaked in beautiful surroundings…it’s the mental space that bogs me. In my head, there is a space that feels like it’s locked behind a door, and I can’t find the door but I know there’s a door somewhere. I also have an intuition that what is behind the door could be unsafe, could be thoroughly terrifying, could be something I’m not entirely ready for; I yearn for it none the less.
Because on the other end of the door, there is a promise of some sort of treasure: a creative spark, an insight, something that could really shift my current state of mind and help me become who I ‘really want to be’. I suspect this is a false sense of security, and I probably have my ego to blame. It even reeks of procrastination — I’m not good enough now, so I need to open the door and claim my treasures, and yet I’m hesitant because it’s threatening to my whole current state of being.
I suspect lots of people feel this way, fantasising about the time when they finally become actualised and brimming with life. This passage through the door seems to rule out who becomes fully happy & content with their lives. Those who are left behind are stuck in the hedonic treadmill, stuck on the trappings of life.
I some times comfort myself by saying it’s just not my time yet. When the student is ready, the teacher shall appear. I’ve received echoes of wisdom, along the lines of, ‘one day, everything will just click’. Well, everything is clicking and clacking, I’m facing my criticisms and my whole being is rattled, wanting for change. And still, there is no click. No crossing of the chasm. I know I’m growing impatient, because I’m finally writing this to you and it feels like a great form of catharsis, just knowing that I’m on the edge of something and I’m hopeful that the tides will carry me over.
What does a solitary life look like to you? Is the loneliness accentuated by the brief exchange between you and the cashier, the food delivery person, the security guard, the apartment manager? In the midst of COVID, it’s gone to the extent where I have to seek warmth through the cold laptop screen with a live support agent.
It’s day 14 of quarantine. If you’re reading this, I miss you. I wish for us to meet again, and I' hope you’re okay.