The Isolated Life

I live quite an isolated life. I’m thinking it’d be interesting to write about, maybe make a story about: isolated, but still somewhat fine. Maybe not so related, but what helps, and perhaps led me this way, is that I enjoy the beauty of life. I can see the wonder in everything around. It does not have to be extraordinarily wonderful; simply as it is, it is wonderful. It’s a slow appreciation of it all, a very calm silence. The world is not cold, soulless, or mechanical. It is very full of life and art. Everything is all one, connected, and existent. I don’t know, but one thing is for sure: I see it much differently than many peers I meet. I’m more of the odd one out on this piece.

Living life isolated is quite unfortunate but also quite fortunate. Maybe there’s value in writing this piece, some insights most never come across or feel, a life rarely one ever lives. I spend most of my time alone, walking and talking with myself and I alone. There’s not much going on but what’s alive in my spine. I follow my threads leading me all over, once over there and many times over here. It’s nice that I get to chase what I like, but not so nice that I’m alone in that chase. A lot of time in reflection, a lot of time in consideration, and a lot of time in existence. It is nice, but not so nice. Sometimes I do not wish to be alone, but most times, I’m completely fine with it.

I have never felt understood or seen, even by those I thought could understand. It’s disappointing, but maybe there’s no need to be understood. The expectation of it is what is disappointing. Maybe it’s okay to be misunderstood. Then how will I share an experience? How can I become we, if not through some sort of shared and understood connection? You can’t really bond without any sort of common ground. If I must step on theirs, is that really a proper bond? My ground will be lost, and only theirs felt under the soles of our feet. I will become lost and no more. Maybe that’s why I am still so alone: I prefer my own ground. I do not want to lose it anymore. Yet I am alone, having found no one who can share common ground. As feedback, it keeps me more alone. I no longer explore other grounds; I keep to myself and stick with my own. How am I supposed to share when I no longer reach out for hands? How will I know that there is no more when I no longer care to know?

This is why I’m alone. But history does teach us more. Never has there been, never will there be; no, that is not written as law. Never has there been, so who knows what will be? But if you live only as before, you have a good idea of what will be. That is if your ideas are good. Sometimes not so much, eh? This is why I live alone. Alone and isolated, as the odd one out. A narrative that I keep: the odd one out. Not so odd, and not so out. We are all truly odd deep down to our bones. Not so much different in the fact that we are different. Perhaps more so alien to the norms so normal to all around. Perhaps less interested in playing the games required to be about. Perhaps less interested in it all because what’s the point? I don’t care for masking and performance; I simply want to be as is and love as is.

But that is a dangerous, vulnerable way to be, apparently. I definitely see why it can be understood as dangerous. But I argue we can become so self-assured and strong that vulnerability is no longer a pain. We wear masks to fit in and stand amongst each other, to blend in and disappear as each other, to play a suitable role. Some of us naturally fall into the norms, as the norm is what is norm. Some of us don’t. Some of us have been trained to be the norm and feel that is who we always have been, never to know more. Some believe that is just how it is, with no reason not to be the norm. But rather, we should be ourselves and fit in as is, regardless of how it is. It is quite beautiful to know yourself is the best way to go, and often the best way to fit in; it simply requires overcoming yourself. Becoming your authentic self is the way to go, and will always be the way to go.

We all find a performance to play that allows us to fit in within our surroundings. Someone’s performance places them all over the hierarchy of social life; they grew up to be higher or lower. Those placed higher thrive in their performance; those placed lower live quietly miserable. Those who want little to nothing to do with it live disappeared, yet still forcefully placed a part. The only exit is to be so truly authentic that the hierarchy has no choice but to place you separate. If not authentic, you’ll still play a performance: of someone who weakly fits in.

I don’t know where I’m going with this. Pause. The end.