The Art of Being Alone

I spent many years of my younger life with my nose in a blank book, thinking very intensely about the trials and tribulations of my little life. Oh, trials! Starting somewhere in middle school and continuing through most of college, I'd write almost every day -- lots and lots of unrequited love, boredom, frustration, gross stuff. I can't read that junk now for its terrible earnestness, but there's something great to be said for just writing whatever is on your mind.

Maybe the most positive side-effect of this kind of writing is that I would often seek out places where I could be alone in a crowd like a museum, park, library, cafe, and just immerse myself in the activity. When I was living in Europe for a bit in college the train rides were almost always my favorite part of a trip because it allowed me the opportunity to sit quietly, watch scenery fly by, and write. It was the closest I've ever come to actual meditation.

I just don't do that anymore. Maybe because it feels self indulgent (says the blogger), or because I just can't take myself seriously enough to write about my feelings. I'm a comedian (kinda) after all and we're pretty much wired to spot and exploit silly behavior in other people. I probably make fun too much. Which is fun.

Maybe I'm afraid to document what I'm thinking, convinced that some bully is going to rip it away from me and read it out loud to the rest of the class. Then everyone will know how I got my period in sewing class and that's actually why I got dismissed*.



I'm making an effort lately to be alone more. I like talking to people and being busy, but I think it's important to not let being busy take over completely.

So, essentially I just blogged about journaling. I think I've crossed some kind of postmodern line and will probably implode pretty soon. So listen guys, you've been great. I'm going to document this all in my journal.

introspective and crap,
erin

*true story