coping with solitude

A friend in Korea writes:

If and when you get the time, I’d like to know through maybe one of your blog entries, what it feels like to be…alone out there, walking, sleeping etc.  Does it give you a lot of time to contemplate life, the universe and everything?  Or are you too busy plotting your route and keeping up with the blog?  Most people I know have a need for human companionship; to constantly hear another voice and I don’t think they’d be able to pull something like this off simply due to the isolation from their friends and families, not to mention the less-than-stellar living and sleeping conditions.

Interesting question.

I'm one of those introverted freaks who'd probably do just fine in solitary confinement. I've got so many voices in my head that I don't really need another source of entertainment, so you might say I'm never lonely. Perhaps this explains eight years in Korea with no TV, radio, CD player, or MP3. Silence isn't my enemy. No, scratch that: a lack of human voices isn't my enemy.

When I find myself alone in a room or on an empty road, I usually end up talking or singing (badly) to myself, bringing out whatever internal dialogue happens to be burbling around inside my head. This sometimes happens in not-so-isolated situations, too. Today's a good example: as the cars were whizzing by on I-84 during my short walk into Rufus (where I am now), I found myself reciting the entire Kirk/Spock dialogue from "Star Trek 2"-- the part where Kirk tells Spock, who was just meditating, that they need to make haste to Regula One to check out a disturbance, and Spock cedes command of the Enterprise to Kirk. I was walking along the eastbound shoulder, so my back was to the nearest traffic, which meant I didn't have to worry about people seeing my lips move; I therefore felt safe enough to talk out loud (loud traffic also masks belching and farting, but you already know this, I'm sure).

Come to think of it, I've never felt truly alone on this walk. Because my purpose is to talk to people, my walks usually keep me close to civilization. If I'm not walking along a highway or freeway, I'm often walking through a neighborhood or business district. People abound. I imagine this will change when I hit some truly empty spots here in the American West, but up to now, I've never gone a day without at least seeing someone in a car or truck, on a motorcycle, on a bike, or on foot. Just seeing fellow travelers is often enough to keep me from feeling lonely, and it helps that most of the folks I've encountered while on the road have been friendly and helpful. Add to that the fact that I'm having these religion-oriented conversations along the way, and it's hard for me to think of a moment where I've felt truly isolated.

So coping with aloneness is a snap for me; aloneness is different from its ugly cousin, loneliness, and I can truly say I'm never lonely.

It helps to anthropomorphize. I talk to spiders, grasshoppers, deer, raccoons, squirrels, dogs, cats, and their carcasses. I talk to trees, rocks, the wind, the sun, and the sky. I've got a dash of Saint Francis in me, and I suspect Saint Francis, who addressed the powers around him with great love and cheer, was secretly in touch with his pagan European roots.

(Or maybe I've read too much Tom Robbins.)

All of which is to say that being alone hasn't been a problem for me. While I value companionship when it's available, I often prefer silence to human noise, the better to hear me talking to myself... or to hear the world talking to itself.


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