As I walked through the empty downtown streets of my city tonight, I realized something that is a bit startling but very true. I am a man who enjoys life most when alone. Sure, I love people. I love my friends, my coworkers, my parents. However, the ongoing game of charades ends when I'm alone. It is only then that I find myself and can be comfortable with who that is.
I saw a woman swallow fire tonight. She danced with a swirling dress to Spanish-Indian fusion type music while waving balls of flame from her hands, mouth, and head. I enjoyed it more than I possibly could with any other person. I walked through a loft filled with paintings for sale and didn't even notice them as I was taken away with the art of the old brick walls and exposed duct work. This is the very same awe that draws me to travel abroad. Surrounded by people, I find myself all alone and adore every minute of it. I burned out my daily lust for starbucks after I made friends and ceased being alone in the crowd of strangers. Within a year or two, the most exotic and intoxicating place to live grows dull and uncomfortable for the same reason. Someone once said that a man is an island. How true that is in my life. These ramparts that have the tendency to guard others from being too close to me seem to grow stronger, higher, and safer as I see the world around me while alone. They seem to take on the characteristics of one-way glass. I can see so clearly while people around me see a distorted image of themselves. I understand how dangerous it is to one's personality and growth to stay emotionally distant from others. Yet, it's only in that place that I smile from the inside out and can't care less if anyone notices or not.
Is this true freedom or an impossible prison to break away from? I don't know and don't care at the moment. Perhaps it's a mixture of the two. So be it. I find myself enjoying another Friday night alone and wouldn't trade it for anything.