Note: This is a fictional writing exercise, so it will make no sense on its surface. Don’t ask me to explain it.
Things cracked beneath my feet, succumbing to the strain of my hundred and sixty pound vessel. It was cold and crisp and quiet; the stillness so pristine that the crunch of each leaf, the snap of each twig broke the silence as if it was the first sound ever.
I hadn’t been for a walk like this in some time. Finding myself aimless and alone for hours on this winter morning was lovely in its way. There is both reward and risk in me having only my thoughts for company. A lack of sufficient solitude had been making itself known through my interactions with others and I needed to decompress.
Too much or too little contemplation ends up in the same unwelcoming place for me; feast or famine with my own thoughts, loneliness. For some time my bedtime meditations and daytime endorphins had given way to work. I had felt isolated by people. Those you choose to be with recharge you. Those chosen for you, not necessarily so.
This solo sojourn felt right. It’s as if too much time with people left my tanks overflowing and the walk was opening the release valve. Equilibrium was returning and it was comforting.
When the serenity was shattered it cut like a knife. With the drain plugged, the equilibrium gone, I began to feel the isolation returning. It’s a strange juxtaposition when more people equates to being more alone, but the introvert stopped mid-meditation doesn’t recovery easily.