Investments

I’ve been spending more and more time alone as of late. It’s been by choice. Solitude breeds solitude; my introverted side has shone brighter than my need to be social, as if my world has rotated ever so slightly, just enough to change my season.

My Thanksgiving plans fell through last minute and though my gracious friends offered alternative plans (One including, “Have you ever seen two deaf people get into a fight?”) I decided to spend the holiday alone.

Best decision I’ve made this year.
Thursday morning I slept in, and then made a breakfast sandwich on one of the bagels I’d picked up at Bruegger’s the day before. I fixed a bloody mary (I decided the holiday was the best time to try new recipes) and sat on my couch in the sunlight, reading. I stayed in my pajamas all day, moving from couch to couch, changing only to switch activities from reading to watching to napping. I didn’t talk to another person until my father called at 5pm. I had a dinner of sage crusted pork chops, roasted brussel sprouts and rosemary red potatoes and ended the day at Ian and Tammy’s relaxing in their hot tub and playing the Monty Python version of Fluxx. My Michael Caine accent needs work apparently.

And so the day was lovely. I didn’t deal with the drama, old wounds or latent insecurities that come with all family get-togethers, not just mine. Didn’t have to spend time getting to know people I won’t see again, or telling the tired stories of who I am. I relied on no one, and I loved it.

And yet, I worry. I worry because it came so easily to me, and as I spent almost four full days alone, I came to crave that solitude even more. In my selfishness I became more selfish. I didn’t want to invest in others or settle in a community, didn’t want to share hearts or laughs. My solitude spiraled in on itself and I’m still fighting to get out of it, even as I enjoy it. I know it to be untrue, but right now investing in others sounds like so much work that I don’t care to try.