{ taking liberties }

i spent the entire weekend alone. i made pancakes, read books in the sun, did hammer curls and sit-ups while watching hours of television. i drank rose at 4pm. i ordered pizza and silenced my phone. i folded shirts, placing them one atop the other, neat slices of cotton.

sometimes i reach out and make the tiniest movements toward social plans. more often than not the text message thread trails off, and i might be the only person in the world who doesn't mind when it does. maybe that's because i know that if i brought my full momentum to the efforts, concrete things would come to pass. somehow i've perfected the art of appearing to try seeing people while remaining profoundly ambivalent as to whether i do or not.

concrete meetings make me restless. as soon as i've arranged them i regret it.
i'm not a misanthrope. i'm beginning to understand that i despise being tied to anything.
i don't fear commitments; i abhor making them.

for so long i thought i needed structure and adherence to something (a schedule, a religion, a program, a plan) or someone (my parents, my friends, a partner). i thought it was in the construct and the connective sinew that i thrived. and because that was how i perceived myself and my needs, so it was. i rarely allowed unprogrammed time or solitude in my life. because to lack a plan or a person for each minute was to be aimless, purposeless, drifting. it was to be formless and unimportant.

it is with relief i am learning that at my core, i'm much wilder than i ever knew. (not wild, per se; compared to truly wild and unstructured individuals i'm probably incredibly uptight.) for the first time in my life, i can sense that my type-A friends view me as foreign: i shy away from plans, i give vague answers to social requests, i regularly dole out "let's see how things go" and "i could probably make that work". a friend told me recently that my comings and goings "seem so mysterious" because when i'm not with her, she has no idea what i do. i believe she said this to cajole me into filling the gaps. (i also believe she said it because my mysterious nature makes her feel insecure about her friendship with me. like, how many other friends do you have? and do you see them more than you see me?) anyone's mistake in trying to manipulate (without malice, sure, but manipulate nonetheless) me in such a manner is that instead of coaxing me to full disclosure or expository confession, it pushes me further into the shadows. reflexively my fists close, holding solitude in my grip, the diamond kernel of my soul spinning faster, smoother, silent.

//

when i was in my mid-twenties i was never alone. i had a boyfriend, i had weekly standing plans with friends, i avoided quiet and rest. my self-worth was tied directly to how busy i was (even at that age i had strong glimmers of self-awareness...from somewhere outside and above my body i observed myself moving so endlessly, and sighed). i created activity and noise to insulate myself. (from what, i'm still figuring.) and lest i completely demonize busy-ness, i think to some extent i was simply being young --- flapping my wings, tirelessly bouncing from corner to corner, face wide open, overly generous with myself and prone to overexertion. my job was easy and light (as easy and light as a mini-career in oncology could be, but still). i did not yet carry the questions and experiences i do now. i had energy left over each day; i spent it all and saved none.

when the boyfriend was no more, things underneath slowed, moving through the cruel gelatin of grief. but on the surface, i only got more frenetic. i was running from the sadness, over-occupying my physical hours and my overwrought faculties. i wanted a drowning that i chose, not the one that threatened to overcome me in my sleep, woke me gasping for air.

all that activity was an effort to buoy myself up. i surrounded myself with an endless ring of people, my human inner tube. i knew i couldn't keep myself afloat on my own. so while in retrospect it all looks ludicrous, like a social circus with a manic ringleader (me), i must bow to the wisdom in those choices, the subconscious knowledge that i couldn't retreat to a cave of pain and heal myself.

//

so it was wisdom that pushed me to dive into community when i was twenty-seven.
and it is wisdom that calls me to stand in my own strength now, at thirty-four.

there are times to take the hands of all who will have you,
to make tearful late-night phone calls that ward off nightmares.
and there are times to clasp your own hands,
to look out the window as dusk gathers and fear no darkness.