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| Picture by Larry & Teddy Page via Flickr |
I was talking with a Facebook friend (just being specific there, because you know, “friend” doesn’t mean anything, anymore) about New Year’s Resolutions. I told him that I wasn’t make any writing goals for the new year because as soon as I make goals, it seems, I set out to sabotage them. And I’m really good at self-sabotage. Really. Good.
But, as it turns out, I did make something of a resolution, on December 31, just before I went to bed.
That’s right. I planned to practice acceptance…learn to embrace the real me…become a hermit.
By acceptance, I meant acceptance of myself. I’d had a couple of blech encounters on the Tubes and thought maybe it would be better for all around if I just gave up being social and…well…shut the hell up. I’m just not the right sort of person who ought to be talking (or typing…you know what I mean) to people in large numbers–in a public way. It never ends well.
I must learn to accept this.
And by becoming a hermit, I meant, of course, personality-wise. I’m already pretty much a physical hermit. That’s probably the true basis of my giving up the office and going back home to write–the simple act of leaving the house on a near-daily basis was emotionally and mentally exhausting.
Do you have any idea how many people are out there? <shiver>
I like the idea of First World hermit-ing. I’m plugged into the world all over the house; so if I ever need to find out what’s going on, I can. I don’t have to go out into the wilds and live in a cabin. It’s not like I have to grow a beard, put on overalls, and spit. And of course, I’d still go shopping. Who wouldn’t, right?
I’d just like to close myself off. Stop jabbering. I keep running into these walls and realizing that I’ve forgotten something. Ohhhh, rightrightright. People don’t get sarcasm. People are stupid. People are crazy. People are not nice.
Not all of them, of course. But enough of them to make me want to be a hermit.
Just give up already, I told myself. You don’t have to be one of those social butterfly writers who likes to hang out at the nearest bar, swigging whiskey, regaling fellow drunks with tales of daring adventures in Spain. No, no. You could be one of those hermit writers: strange, mysterious, rarely seen. And when seen, never without the shawl and veil. Ooooh. It could be so cool.
This reminds me of a girl who one day, many years ago…could have been the Eighties…hard to say. I was drunk in the Eighties. (Everyone who knows me, knows this. Because it’s one of my favorite things to tell people.) She came into the Waldenbooks where I worked (you remember Waldenbooks, right?) and somehow we were talking about Pink Floyd. This girl told me that Pink Floyd had never, ever been seen in public! They’d never given a concert! Nobody knew what they looked like!!
I was like, girl, you’re crazy. And she was. But the awe with which she spoke of the elusive Pink that was Floyd, was inspiring. Only hermits can really grab at the imagination like that. So, yes. The idea has great appeal. I will just…shut up. I’ll be happier. The world will be happier. And then, one day, they’ll talk about me in hushed tones. Spread rumors about letter bombs, terrorist ties, or physical deformities, murders for which there was not enough evidence to convict!
I like it! Let’s do it! 2016–Here I Come!
But the very next day–The very next day!–there I was back on the social networks chatting and commenting and acting like I was nice and not grumpy at all. I have utterly failed in all principles of hermit-ing.
And, let’s not fail to point out, I failed at the only New Year’s Resolution that I made. This truly bodes well for the year ahead of me. I’m ahead of everybody! I win the New Year!
And just in case I do get the hang of hermit-ing, I’ll see about getting that shawl…