Hope Floats

 
Henry David Thoreau is arguably the world’s most infamous recluse. You know the guy. He spent long hours alone by a pond in Connecticut contemplating the universe and the warring habits of ants.

Knowing this, it is not a surprise that he was the one to observe, “The man who goes each day to the village to hear the latest news has not heard from himself in a long time.”

Good point, and in a thoroughly Thoreau way, profound. He implies that solitude is something rare and often avoided. He would not be alone in this declaration. Many, especially those of other nationalities, have commented on the American need to constantly be surrounded by distractions. I would argue the epidemic is worldwide.

In the old days, a distraction would have been other people, perhaps those gossiping down at the local watering hole. Today, a never ending barrage of technology offers an endless escape from the world. Cell phones, texting, MySpace, Facebook, AIM, television, radio iPods, etc, etc. Really, I could go on for ever.

The question then, is why do we choose to immerse, even drown ourselves, in a sea of microchips?

The answer: silence is painful. Silence forces us to listen. It does not allow for a retreat behind a shield of superficiality. We are left alone to our minds, our thoughts and our emotions in an utterly unadulterated fashion. Silence makes us vulnerable, and in a world that exalts the powerful, most are not comfortable with being vulnerable.

Often I feel as though a town council meeting is in session in my head. Different characters, with different personalities struggle for dominance in various situations tugging at a very small version of me in the direction of their choosing. The trouble is, all of the characters are pieces of me, representative of my hopes, logic, and desires. They are each powerful personalities and in my most vulnerable, raw moments I wonder, “Who’s in charge in there?”

I hear from myself plenty, thank you very much. In fact, every second my mind is buzzing as I shuffle through life.

If solitude is how often we hear from ourselves, then solitude is my norm. I bet it’s yours too. The escape, then, is not hiding in a corner, but seeking the company we long for in community.
Historians have proven that Thoreau walk the two miles from Walden Pond to Concord every day and often welcomed visitors to his sanctuary. Even Thoreau was lonely, which is why he eventually moved back to town.

Over 100 years after this, a duo of free thinkers presented their own ideas on solitude.

“And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared disturb the sound of silence.
‘Fools’, said I, ‘you do not know,
Silence like a cancer grows.
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you.’”

Simon and Garfunkel were onto something.

Solitude is not the same as loneliness. It is a boat floating in a sea of other possible companions. No man is an island and that’s why Thoreau wrote “Walden” down. He transcended solitude, existing alone, but was not lonely. He reached out to the world through his words.

And that’s why I write my words to you.
I am floating the boat of my life within speaking distance of yours.