I pretty much need solitude to survive. Not as much as I used to require, but enough that I can clear my head from time to time. My head needs a lot of clearing it seems. It's not even that there is an overabundance of thoughts circling around up there. Sometimes, my head gets stuffed with the same thought playing over and over on a loop. Literally, I have have to tell myself, "Stop fixating, man. You're bugging me." Mine is a simple mind, it seems.
Most of my solitude these days comes when running. For at least an hour, I can all but guarantee that I'm not going to have to talk to anyone and no one is going to talk to me. I can think about whatever I want. Or I can choose not to think. I can just run and observe. And although there are runs where pretty much all my energy is spent sucking in air and desperately trying to figure out how I'm going to make it even one step more, there are runs that are glorious. Runs where I don't see any cars. I don't see any faces. I don't see anything but the blue sky, the clouds, the landscape, and the distance. Those are the days where I'm most thankful for the solitude.
Back in the day, I had arguably too much solitude on my hands. In my early 20s, I didn't have a television for several years, for example, a situation that only added to the already considerable quietness. Just books and music and pen and paper. The music added voices to the air, but often those voices only added to the atmosphere; they didn't add companionship. But honestly, I didn't mind a bit. I grew used to letting my thoughts roam free. I grew accustomed to letting my imagination perform the greatest of tricks. And I think I'm the better today for it. I may not always like myself, but I'm almost always comfortable being by myself. I don't search for ways to pass idle time. I don't need someone to make the most of the minutes in front of me. I'm fine with just "sitting." A friend of mine uses that term, "sitting." Just sitting and being. If you do it, you know what I'm talking about. If you don't do it or can't do it, you're missing out. You're missing out on really, truly knowing yourself. Facing your demons. Making friends with them. Making them your allies. Turning them down the path of good.
Spend enough time by yourself and you learn to be honest with yourself. Face up to your limitations. Stare down your inadequacies. You know what's what. You learn that you can lie and cheat and attempt to fool others into thinking something different about you, but you're just a sucker for doing so. You've gained nothing. You've gained no true respect. False respect is dead respect. It's nothing to be honored or toted out as a badge of honor. Fool others into believing you're something you're not and you're not getting over; you're just a fraud. That's an aspect of running that I love most. You can lie and fabricate and beef up your times and distance, but when you're out on the pavement or trail alone and break down and quit short of your goal, you know the score. You know you didn't measure up. You know how to be truthful with yourself. That carries over.
There are days when I wish I had more solitude. More time to explore alone. More time to write and rewrite and rewrite some more the lines filtering through my head. But the trade-off is minutes lost with people I don't want to be separated from. And there's much to be gained from being united. I suppose, though, that I'll always be a person who gravitates toward solitude in one respect or another. I'm thankful for the people around me who understand the need.
Most of my solitude these days comes when running. For at least an hour, I can all but guarantee that I'm not going to have to talk to anyone and no one is going to talk to me. I can think about whatever I want. Or I can choose not to think. I can just run and observe. And although there are runs where pretty much all my energy is spent sucking in air and desperately trying to figure out how I'm going to make it even one step more, there are runs that are glorious. Runs where I don't see any cars. I don't see any faces. I don't see anything but the blue sky, the clouds, the landscape, and the distance. Those are the days where I'm most thankful for the solitude.
Back in the day, I had arguably too much solitude on my hands. In my early 20s, I didn't have a television for several years, for example, a situation that only added to the already considerable quietness. Just books and music and pen and paper. The music added voices to the air, but often those voices only added to the atmosphere; they didn't add companionship. But honestly, I didn't mind a bit. I grew used to letting my thoughts roam free. I grew accustomed to letting my imagination perform the greatest of tricks. And I think I'm the better today for it. I may not always like myself, but I'm almost always comfortable being by myself. I don't search for ways to pass idle time. I don't need someone to make the most of the minutes in front of me. I'm fine with just "sitting." A friend of mine uses that term, "sitting." Just sitting and being. If you do it, you know what I'm talking about. If you don't do it or can't do it, you're missing out. You're missing out on really, truly knowing yourself. Facing your demons. Making friends with them. Making them your allies. Turning them down the path of good.
Spend enough time by yourself and you learn to be honest with yourself. Face up to your limitations. Stare down your inadequacies. You know what's what. You learn that you can lie and cheat and attempt to fool others into thinking something different about you, but you're just a sucker for doing so. You've gained nothing. You've gained no true respect. False respect is dead respect. It's nothing to be honored or toted out as a badge of honor. Fool others into believing you're something you're not and you're not getting over; you're just a fraud. That's an aspect of running that I love most. You can lie and fabricate and beef up your times and distance, but when you're out on the pavement or trail alone and break down and quit short of your goal, you know the score. You know you didn't measure up. You know how to be truthful with yourself. That carries over.
There are days when I wish I had more solitude. More time to explore alone. More time to write and rewrite and rewrite some more the lines filtering through my head. But the trade-off is minutes lost with people I don't want to be separated from. And there's much to be gained from being united. I suppose, though, that I'll always be a person who gravitates toward solitude in one respect or another. I'm thankful for the people around me who understand the need.
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