By nature, I’m an extremely social person. I like spending time with other people; going places, walking around, sitting on the couch, just enjoying the pleasure of my compatriots’ company.
But every now and again I really enjoy being alone. I relish the morning, lying in bed with the light from the street coming in through the windows, still too comfy and warm to get out of bed just yet. I relish the afternoon, bits of paper and small projects spread out around me, a creative brainstorm to organize my thoughts. I relish working overtime in my corner coffee shop, sturdy wooden chairs, dim lighting, jazz music and the brown noise of folks on the phone, sharing a coffee and some cake, winding down.
It’s in the latter-most setting that I appreciate the little carnation on my table, the taste of the coffee I’m sharing with myself, and the rum-soaked cherry on top of this absurdly decadent cake. I think I will always enjoy these periodic moments of solitude. Where nobody’s concerns matter but my own. I don’t have to be anywhere, do anything or please anyone. And it’s strange because it’s in these moments of silence I wish I had someone to be silent with.
I dream of the day where I can sit across from someone at this table and not say anything out of comfort and stillness.
It reminds me of a separate moment where I was staring in wonderment at the downtown skyline in the heat of summer. Surrounded by beer, people in body paint, music and the dregs of the evening. I said that I wanted someone to stand there with me in that moment, hold my hand, look into the immense, impossible, wonderful future and dream with me.
The person I said this to decided to leave my life not a week later.
It’s in this chair and this coffee-table setting that I realize a few months ago this kind of solitude would have had me feeling sorry for myself. Asking impossible questions of “why?” Everything would have reminded me of someone who’s no longer my time-travelling companion. My buddy. My fellow explorer. Someone to adventure the world with.
As the days fall off the calendar and I near an anniversary of sorts, I realize that I no longer wish he had been the person I know he could be. Mostly because if he had wanted to be that person, if he had wanted to continue our adventures, he would have. Plain and simple. Instead I am more hopeful for someone who wants integrate instead of periodically visit. Keep their boots on, walk around and get messy.
And while it no longer makes me sad, it does fill me with longing. Longing for someone who will enjoy this silent moment with the slightly-too-boisterous trumpet in the background and the wondrous place we live in and hold my hand and dream.
So, facing this quasi- anniversary I don’t look back but forward. I raise this coffee cup to myself – never stop dreaming, everything truly is what you make it.