Hilarious…

I enjoy the other folks my last post associates with.  I hope that I did not sound like a dramatic teenage sap…but with my topic, am not too surprised to be associated with such writing.

Loneliness

“Only what you hide is profound, is true. Whence the power of base feelings” (30).

“Write books only if you are going to say in them the things you would never dare confide to anyone” (27).

-E. M. Cioran, from The Trouble with Being Born

I don’t know why Cioran sticks so well in my mind. His aphorisms and thought do, though; particularly this thought on our secrets. It encourages me.

Loneliness is an uncomfortable topic for me to discuss on here. I don’t particularly like broadcasting my weaknesses to anyone, so typically refrain from discussing these types of things. My merging with this thought of Cioran moves me towards the idea that I should continue with this discussion, though. As much as I enjoy, at times, indulging in my impulses, I also love pulling them in their opposite direction to feel that strain. I also think that stepping back from those base feelings of loneliness in order to examine them will help to quell them or let me discover strategies towards that end.

Loneliness actually manifests as a physical sinking feeling in my gut or maybe my throat: a downward tug from the base of my digestion, perhaps, that stretches everything else down with it. It’s not often that I feel this, but nor is it unfamiliar to me. It makes me feel as though I should do something with my digestion: eat something or not have eaten something in the past, or other things. None of those options help, though. Obviously I can’t go back in time and un-eat things. These feelings typically cause me to whittle away late night hours watching TV or searching the Internet in vain for something to diminish them and regain my typical self. Very unproductive and a little bit pathetic; maybe masochistic, too, as if I stepped away from those feelings and realized a way to diminish them, they would probably go away.

Now that I think about it, it seems that these feelings perpetuate themselves. I take myself into a spiral of self-pity that increases the loneliness. When I descend into this state, I seem to enjoy it. Yet realizing this right now only makes me laugh at it a bit. It’s so unnatural–not unnatural, but irrational. My brain is a somewhat irrational blob of pinkish goo, isn’t it? My existence, that is: I don’t think it’s just my brain that controls such things. It’s all connected. Perhaps if I would take care of myself like I used to, I wouldn’t feel these unpleasant things.

Regardless, taking care of myself isn’t an option until I restart life on my own in…11 days or so. I feel better from this, anyway. Realizing how irrational I was being makes me laugh at myself and move on; deep breaths help too. I’ll have to remember this the next time I have these feelings.

As an aside, obviously I’m back from my trip. I haven’t felt that needed its own post, so I haven’t posted since my return. I have no pictures yet: I sit on several rolls of undeveloped film because of laziness/advanced technology bringing me down. You see, most film “development” consists of scanning the film and printing that digital image. Thus, what is printed doesn’t look all that great: lots of graininess. It’s very difficult to do things against the grain of society, and sometimes it’s difficult to muster the effort to work that way. I’ve refrained from searching very hard for a photo center that caters to my wishes. So, I’ll do that tomorrow–or cave in. I’m quite proud of some of my photographs, though, so it will be disappointing if their final stage is shat out of some conveyor-belt printer.

Once I get my photos back I will discuss my trip more. All I’ll say now is that it was everything I could have possibly expected and more. I feel like it filled me out in some way: put some meat on my bones. I’ve lived in Grand Rapids for so long that stepping away from this–especially in the rough sort of way I did–gave me some new perspective. The way I viewed hardship and discomfort while living it was strikingly different from the way I view it from a distance. Even now, just a week or so after my return, I think about going a step further with my roughing-it and hitchhiking on cargo trains instead of taking a car. When I was exhausted and 2000 miles away from Grand Rapids, that was the last thing on my mind. Place and situation have a huge effect on perspective.

I could probably write all night about my trip, but I won’t. Instead, I will sleep. I need to soon, though, so I don’t forget that perspective I found. It was a great trip; as much as I enjoy the comforts of home, I miss much from it.