Alone is not lonely. I think people who feel lonely in the presence of other people think that aloneness must be a greater degree of loneliness. But loneliness is a lack of connection.
In "No Place Like...", I shared what I thought about home. Then I thought more about the nature of home. Lol. Before I listened to riff #9, I thought, "Well, I want to provide a sense of home to my children, and my wife, by my presence and actions and the sustaining of an anchor to a physical place, but I don't think _I_ need a home in that same sense. I don't think I need a home to feel happy or secure. I just need my mind so I can keep thinking."
There is my contemplation of "home" which I think could get wishy-washy, fuzzy, vulnerable to sentiment, and then there is my practical application of home. The thought of a tangible home is an elicitation of comfort: "I can't wait to get home and sleep in my own bed." Comfort is inarguably nice. But I'm cautious about becoming embedded in it. I know that I'd really be ok if I never slept in my own bed again. But I would bring my down sleeping bag if I could.
I hold the notion that my life is like a feather. I could be blown around wherever which way, whenever. This isn't cultivated. For me, it's an embodied truth. I was adopted from Korea and was flown halfway around the world to my adoptive parents when I was six months old. They also adopted my identical twin. People still gush, these decades later, "You're so lucky your parents wanted both of you!" Yes, no shit. My life would have been yet more different without her. I live by the fact that my life, as it is, is fundamentally due to events of a great magnitude over which I had absolutely no control. A lot of people are fearful of the idea of losing control of their lives, and this fear is what informs their decisions, holds them back or propels them forward. It's hard to learn that control is an illusion. I learned to make decisions based on what I want, and I learned that I might still not get what I want. I learned that agency comes from making choices, not from getting the outcomes I desire. Maybe that's the key, to have agency over what and where you call home.
You spoke of freedom, quoting Camus, "The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion." I think freedom also ties in to feeling a sense of home or not. I'm aware of the ways I do not feel free despite having the kind of life that your writer acquaintance thought everyone _should_ have.
Freedom, and a sense of place, and sense of home are recurring themes in much of the writing of Ursula K. Le Guin. In her short story "Forgiveness Day", one of the characters said, "You're the only person I've ever known who is neither owned nor owner. That is freedom. I wonder if you know it."
I revisited that story when you posted this—thank you for reminding me of it, it was powerful to go back and read it with the different eyes of a few more years. The extent to which people believe they have control over events flabbergasts me—even the extent to which I'm certain I believe it as well, though everything in my life reminds me of ways in which I don't—and I am noticing lately how much more peaceful it becomes when I make an effort to respond to that fact with at least some neutrality—I can't control much, nor am I ultimately helpless, the whole exasperating paradox of it—and I think the way you put it is very wise: regarding your life as if it is a feather. There's peace even in the image of it, to me. Thank you, as always, for a glimpse into your thoughts.
God I love this. That is all.
Alone is not lonely. I think people who feel lonely in the presence of other people think that aloneness must be a greater degree of loneliness. But loneliness is a lack of connection.
In "No Place Like...", I shared what I thought about home. Then I thought more about the nature of home. Lol. Before I listened to riff #9, I thought, "Well, I want to provide a sense of home to my children, and my wife, by my presence and actions and the sustaining of an anchor to a physical place, but I don't think _I_ need a home in that same sense. I don't think I need a home to feel happy or secure. I just need my mind so I can keep thinking."
There is my contemplation of "home" which I think could get wishy-washy, fuzzy, vulnerable to sentiment, and then there is my practical application of home. The thought of a tangible home is an elicitation of comfort: "I can't wait to get home and sleep in my own bed." Comfort is inarguably nice. But I'm cautious about becoming embedded in it. I know that I'd really be ok if I never slept in my own bed again. But I would bring my down sleeping bag if I could.
I hold the notion that my life is like a feather. I could be blown around wherever which way, whenever. This isn't cultivated. For me, it's an embodied truth. I was adopted from Korea and was flown halfway around the world to my adoptive parents when I was six months old. They also adopted my identical twin. People still gush, these decades later, "You're so lucky your parents wanted both of you!" Yes, no shit. My life would have been yet more different without her. I live by the fact that my life, as it is, is fundamentally due to events of a great magnitude over which I had absolutely no control. A lot of people are fearful of the idea of losing control of their lives, and this fear is what informs their decisions, holds them back or propels them forward. It's hard to learn that control is an illusion. I learned to make decisions based on what I want, and I learned that I might still not get what I want. I learned that agency comes from making choices, not from getting the outcomes I desire. Maybe that's the key, to have agency over what and where you call home.
You spoke of freedom, quoting Camus, "The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion." I think freedom also ties in to feeling a sense of home or not. I'm aware of the ways I do not feel free despite having the kind of life that your writer acquaintance thought everyone _should_ have.
Freedom, and a sense of place, and sense of home are recurring themes in much of the writing of Ursula K. Le Guin. In her short story "Forgiveness Day", one of the characters said, "You're the only person I've ever known who is neither owned nor owner. That is freedom. I wonder if you know it."
I revisited that story when you posted this—thank you for reminding me of it, it was powerful to go back and read it with the different eyes of a few more years. The extent to which people believe they have control over events flabbergasts me—even the extent to which I'm certain I believe it as well, though everything in my life reminds me of ways in which I don't—and I am noticing lately how much more peaceful it becomes when I make an effort to respond to that fact with at least some neutrality—I can't control much, nor am I ultimately helpless, the whole exasperating paradox of it—and I think the way you put it is very wise: regarding your life as if it is a feather. There's peace even in the image of it, to me. Thank you, as always, for a glimpse into your thoughts.
tremendous…
Thank you, Bruce, and so happy to have you here!