I am not going crazy. I refuse to do it.
Living out here in the middle of nowhere, too far from town to justify leisure trips, can be a bit daunting. You soon find things that don’t matter (like is the Carlos on this season’s Desperate Housewives played by a different actor? – I must know!) become very Google-worthy. And I don’t even watch the show. I just happened upon a photo of him, and it was imperative I discovered the truth. It is still him, by the way. He shaved his facial hair for a new role. Now if that ain’t worth the stop over here …
While spending the time I can outside, throwing a fun pity party for myself that even my dogs won’t attend, despite my neatly-crafted invitations, I noticed the birds are going wild about this time. Not only are they incredibly loud, but quite inconsiderate of my no-loud-noises party. But no, they don’t care. They seem to be enjoying their own party; a choir sendoff as they travel south for the winter.
As I grumble and glare at them, something begins to happen in me … I soften and allow their constant chirping to sing to my heart. I begin to forget about this maddening of my mind, the solitude of my soul. The birds remind me that I am never truly alone, despite what authors and directors try to message with their depressing stories.
The feelings of loneliness arise occasionally, but we are never completely alone. Especially when we take time to step outside.
No, I am not going mad. I am refusing it.
As old Albert Einstein once said “A person can start to live when he can live outside himself.”