Superb Isolation
Nearly a decade ago I decided it would be a brilliant idea to take a trip to England -- on my own. A few months earlier I had endured an excruciatingly painful marriage bust-up, and I had come into a bit of money, so why not get away from it all and journey abroad? I had lived in England for a year 16 years earlier, so it seemed a natural -- my 'other' home and all that. So, I made the trip -- and I hated it.
I had never traveled on my own before, and I had not foreseen the implications of so doing. For the first few days in Blighty, it was OK. I was staying with dear friends, so I had the diversion of reconnecting with people I'd not seen in a long time. Then I left their secure abode, and ventured off. It was brutal. I'd go out and sightsee during the day, then I would get back to my hotel room, and I would be alone. There was nobody with whom to compare notes. There was nobody else breathing in the room. I'd go down to the restaurant, and for a time I would be diverted both by the meal, and by the other people in the room -- all of whom seemed to be with someone. I'd scan the room to see if I could spot a female who might also be traveling solo. No such luck. Sometimes I'd repair to a pub, again for a bit of noise and milling humanity. I'd nurse a beer, then ultimately inwardly shrug and head back to my room. My mood darkened as the days moved on.
I took to calling my brother back in Canada, just to get some human contact; a familiar voice. It was costly, but seemed worth it. Even costlier, one evening I hired a high-class call-girl. Not for sex -- though that was a pleasing sidelight -- but for companionship. I paid her handsomely to spend a few hours with me. She was very pretty, very intelligent, and not bad companionship, even at the price. I've never regretted the expenditure, because her presence carried me through a few hours. Then, she left, and again I was alone.
Part of my problem, I realized, was that through two marriages, little of my life had been a solo endeavor. I wasn't really suffering from loneliness, but from a sense of bleak isolation. In essence I am an existentialist. We are born alone, we die alone, and in between we spend most of our days dealing with innermost thoughts, fears, aspirations, cravings, lustings, sexually kinky thoughts, and a whole host of elements of our essential humanity that we do not share with others. But, the presence of another had still, for the most part, been a vital aspect of my life.
Anyway, I returned from England and was, I am pleased to say, considerably wiser about myself and my needs. One thing I learned is that I will never travel solo again. Even if I just choose a companion at random (a female one, preferably; what can I say? I like girls), that will have to be the case. The other thing I learned was to cherish much more deeply whoever my life companion might be. The third, and most important thing I learned was that I needed to develop tools to deal with isolation.
After I was back in Canada, this was the lesson I had to master, and ultimately I did so. I actually came to cherish solitude and freedom. I got a cat; I got some plants; I met some terrific people both in real-time and on-line; most of whom remain friends today, even the ones who were fleeting lovers.
I am since remarried, very happily. My wife is a fiercely independent, yet profoundly loving soul. Right now, for the first time in our seven years together, she is away. She'll be back in two weeks, but I miss her terribly. The only difference is, I remain thoroughly able to cope with my life. I do miss her help with the New York Times crossword, I do miss the obvious, and I sorely miss her companionship. But, I do not feel for a moment the bleak sensations of solitude I once endured. No, I'm OK. But the cat is pining like hell for her. I don't blame the cat. My wife has a lap; I do not.
I had never traveled on my own before, and I had not foreseen the implications of so doing. For the first few days in Blighty, it was OK. I was staying with dear friends, so I had the diversion of reconnecting with people I'd not seen in a long time. Then I left their secure abode, and ventured off. It was brutal. I'd go out and sightsee during the day, then I would get back to my hotel room, and I would be alone. There was nobody with whom to compare notes. There was nobody else breathing in the room. I'd go down to the restaurant, and for a time I would be diverted both by the meal, and by the other people in the room -- all of whom seemed to be with someone. I'd scan the room to see if I could spot a female who might also be traveling solo. No such luck. Sometimes I'd repair to a pub, again for a bit of noise and milling humanity. I'd nurse a beer, then ultimately inwardly shrug and head back to my room. My mood darkened as the days moved on.
I took to calling my brother back in Canada, just to get some human contact; a familiar voice. It was costly, but seemed worth it. Even costlier, one evening I hired a high-class call-girl. Not for sex -- though that was a pleasing sidelight -- but for companionship. I paid her handsomely to spend a few hours with me. She was very pretty, very intelligent, and not bad companionship, even at the price. I've never regretted the expenditure, because her presence carried me through a few hours. Then, she left, and again I was alone.
Part of my problem, I realized, was that through two marriages, little of my life had been a solo endeavor. I wasn't really suffering from loneliness, but from a sense of bleak isolation. In essence I am an existentialist. We are born alone, we die alone, and in between we spend most of our days dealing with innermost thoughts, fears, aspirations, cravings, lustings, sexually kinky thoughts, and a whole host of elements of our essential humanity that we do not share with others. But, the presence of another had still, for the most part, been a vital aspect of my life.
Anyway, I returned from England and was, I am pleased to say, considerably wiser about myself and my needs. One thing I learned is that I will never travel solo again. Even if I just choose a companion at random (a female one, preferably; what can I say? I like girls), that will have to be the case. The other thing I learned was to cherish much more deeply whoever my life companion might be. The third, and most important thing I learned was that I needed to develop tools to deal with isolation.
After I was back in Canada, this was the lesson I had to master, and ultimately I did so. I actually came to cherish solitude and freedom. I got a cat; I got some plants; I met some terrific people both in real-time and on-line; most of whom remain friends today, even the ones who were fleeting lovers.
I am since remarried, very happily. My wife is a fiercely independent, yet profoundly loving soul. Right now, for the first time in our seven years together, she is away. She'll be back in two weeks, but I miss her terribly. The only difference is, I remain thoroughly able to cope with my life. I do miss her help with the New York Times crossword, I do miss the obvious, and I sorely miss her companionship. But, I do not feel for a moment the bleak sensations of solitude I once endured. No, I'm OK. But the cat is pining like hell for her. I don't blame the cat. My wife has a lap; I do not.
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