Wow... I'm really having trouble remembering the last couple of weeks. I think that's just the nature of the year: January starts off with the slow, post-holiday hangover, continues into March's bowl of cosmic cereal, realizes it's been dawdling at about August, blazes through the rest of October and November and explodes into exhaustion at the end of December. Then the cycle starts again. Whee.
Seriously, though, the holidays were a particularly blurry blur this year, and now 2012 has begun. I sacrificed the midnight "Hurrah!" so I could see the year's first sunrise over the dunes of Death Valley. And you know? It didn't matter that I had traveled by myself. I was surrounded by similarly minded people, and the night before, I was invited to dine with a family who then purchased my dinner (part of the "New Year's Special" menu, a.k.a. the same mediocre fare for ten extra dollars). All in all, what could have been an unbearably lonely weekend turned into a lovely experience, and how ironic that it should take place in the shadow of the Valley of Death.
I'm not making as many resolutions this year. Frankly, I overburdened myself for 2011, "My Year," and I forgot 75% of them before February even hit. I believe I had intended it to be the year of the relationship, when, in fact, it turned out to be my most independent year ever. I sacrificed the late nights for the most sunrises I'd seen in years, but I also sacrificed most of my sense of belonging to anything.
For 2012, I'd like to reverse that, but not by making a checklist of all the same old friends I haven't heard from in years and painstakingly contacting all of them to rekindle something that had never ignited. My adventures in 2011 taught me that relying solely on any one person is not healthy or enjoyable for either party. The people I've met on my landmark quests, though our relationships have not endured past a conversation, have reawakened two things that had been missing during all the time and effort I'd put into maintaining crumbling relationships of the past: curiosity and joy.
A socially healthy person (at least in this society) makes new friends throughout his/her life, so attain social health, the time has come to start expanding. If I can talk to a new person every week, it would lead to the sort of breakthrough I spent the last year convincing myself was impossible. All I need are guts, practice, and a willingness to let slide. It's a big risk, but one I'm willing to take if it means being a social animal once again. Of all the people I meet for the first time, at least one has to stick around for the second. Maybe two. Maybe that will lead to a bunch. Then, perhaps, I can stop feeling like a monk outside the abbey. After all, even monks have their brothers.
Seriously, though, the holidays were a particularly blurry blur this year, and now 2012 has begun. I sacrificed the midnight "Hurrah!" so I could see the year's first sunrise over the dunes of Death Valley. And you know? It didn't matter that I had traveled by myself. I was surrounded by similarly minded people, and the night before, I was invited to dine with a family who then purchased my dinner (part of the "New Year's Special" menu, a.k.a. the same mediocre fare for ten extra dollars). All in all, what could have been an unbearably lonely weekend turned into a lovely experience, and how ironic that it should take place in the shadow of the Valley of Death.
I'm not making as many resolutions this year. Frankly, I overburdened myself for 2011, "My Year," and I forgot 75% of them before February even hit. I believe I had intended it to be the year of the relationship, when, in fact, it turned out to be my most independent year ever. I sacrificed the late nights for the most sunrises I'd seen in years, but I also sacrificed most of my sense of belonging to anything.
For 2012, I'd like to reverse that, but not by making a checklist of all the same old friends I haven't heard from in years and painstakingly contacting all of them to rekindle something that had never ignited. My adventures in 2011 taught me that relying solely on any one person is not healthy or enjoyable for either party. The people I've met on my landmark quests, though our relationships have not endured past a conversation, have reawakened two things that had been missing during all the time and effort I'd put into maintaining crumbling relationships of the past: curiosity and joy.
A socially healthy person (at least in this society) makes new friends throughout his/her life, so attain social health, the time has come to start expanding. If I can talk to a new person every week, it would lead to the sort of breakthrough I spent the last year convincing myself was impossible. All I need are guts, practice, and a willingness to let slide. It's a big risk, but one I'm willing to take if it means being a social animal once again. Of all the people I meet for the first time, at least one has to stick around for the second. Maybe two. Maybe that will lead to a bunch. Then, perhaps, I can stop feeling like a monk outside the abbey. After all, even monks have their brothers.
