Why I am considering being a hermit (but probably won’t)!
How is it that an outgoing individual, an extrovert, a self-described “people person”, could turn inward and consider being a hermit? I suppose there are many factors, some of which can be traced over the last two years, some for nearly forty, and, well, others relating to approaching sixty.
I distinctly recall March of 2020, being told my job would be working from home. My inquiry as to whether this was optional was met with a resounding ‘no’, but most believed it would only be for three weeks, four at the most. Well, a year goes by and I made it through technical issues and the preliminary shock of what the pandemic meant. I actually got used to working from home, reveled in it.
By the same token, my wife was still going to work and I left the house to go grocery shopping and to the liquor store on Thursdays. (They offer 20 percent off on wine!) Initially, my comments about how infrequently I left the house started off as a joke, a cute comment. Then, the reality set in that I was no longer a part of the world. On top of that, no one at the job acted in the best interests of the employees, only the best interests of the company.
Depression? Social anxiety disorder? Some other psychological malady? Yeah, sure, whatever you want to call it. But, you add on the divisiveness regarding vaccines and mask usage, absurd claims about the election, “The Big Lie”, and you realize the true nature of those you thought were close to you. Family, friends, even those people referred to as ‘friends’ on Facebook or other social media.
A new job put me right in the middle of the real world. I was back in an office (thankfully NOT a call center), and adapted and learned a new industry. You still have to consider the entirety of the pandemic impacts most industries. Compassion and empathy are hallmarks of good customer service. But after being in that field for forty years, those qualities have a tendency to melt like wax on the surface of the sun.
Throw in the approaching sixtieth birthday. No, there’s no fear or age-related issues, other than an eagerness to retire. My aspirations of, say, twenty years ago, to travel, for example, have evaporated, largely because I don’t want to go on a plane or a cruise ship to get to a destination which would have previously been considered fascinating, but is now saddled with restrictions and limitations.
The activities that have gotten me through this mental morass have been writing and culinary creations (i.e. sausage making, baking, using the smoker, etc.) When I consider them, I think “I can do this by myself. I can do this alone. I don’t want to be around people and risk being threatened by someone who was once close to me. I don’t want to be forced to justify my beliefs. JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!”
And then, the one activity that has been with me the longest, the thing that defines me because it allows the greatest expression of creativity — the writing — necessitates immersion in the world. I write about the world around me, the world I interact with and experience, the people of all ages, genders, creeds, beliefs, the good AND the evil.
For me to withdraw from that would force me to stop writing. Consequently, there would be no definition of “me”, in essence, forcing me to cease to exist. The choices I CAN make to maintain balance, equilibrium, and some measure of sanity are:
Seek out those who comfort me by their intellect, humor, and compassion.
Avoid engaging with those whose only purpose is to break me down.
Recognize all the components of the world for what they are intrinsically.
Make no judgement but suffer no fools.
I foresee the pandemic ending but relationships destroyed. I will eventually retire, and I will choose how I live. There is no avoiding turning sixty, but I can dictate how to live my life.
There is a lot more bread to bake, more sausages to make, more stories to write.
I am still here.
