Winter’s coming. The season of staying in, thick blankets, warm socks, blazing fires or electric heaters. Staying warm becomes an art form. Even today, though the sun is shining, you can smell the chill in the air and feel it in your lungs.
I think of my state of mind one long winter several years ago, and am acutely aware of just how unhealthy, and unhappy, I was. It was me as much as my surroundings. I disconnected myself as much as I was pushed away, fairly struggled against the repelling forces in my life but used them as an excuse to be alone. I had a particular longing for isolation, and it was given to me in spades. It was a seductive loneliness, and a very self-indulgent one. I’ve always been a determined optimist, even in the dead of winter, and despite my sharp memories of unhappiness, I recall the moon and stars blazing in the night sky. Important things happened that winter. Friendships were forged, family was lost, and everything outside of that carried an uncertain gravity.
I still find my myself tempted by seclusion, longing to be disconnected, surrounded by water, to have tiny parts of myself swept away from all angles. It’s in these moments that I create metaphorical islands out of everything in my life.
