I have a syndrome, I call it over-compatibility of solidarity. I don't know if it's a healthy condition to be in or it is a sign of a bigger problem.
But so far I have yet to suffer from this condition, it has not done any harm to me physically or mentally. At times I wonder if I could be suffering from a possible attack of self-denial. This wondering comes when am I am consciously celebrating my love for solidarity; for example when I am walking alone somewhere, anywhere, and smile in an almost maniac delirium of feeling free, and alone.
That's it. I think the rationale behind my fondness for solidarity lies in my love for freedom. Everybody loves freedom no doubt, but I guess freedom is interpreted differently by individuals.
To some, freedom means being able to pursue one's interests without restriction from family or friends or society.
To some, freedom means being able to travel to anywhere.
To some, freedom means being out of jail.
To some, freedom means sleeping with different lovers and not be punished for it.
To some, freedom means being able to speak freely without having to pay for it in a lawsuit.
For me, being alone is freedom. Roam as slowly or as quickly through a strip of shops. Being alone I can sing as loudly as I wish at home in the wee hours. I can skip meals or cook at 2am. I can read in bed till 12noon and not get up till I finished. Being alone I don't need to sound clever, be polite to someone boring, or impress someone I like.
I try to be less of trouble to others. I try my best to be a careful driver. I try to be kind and listen to my compassion department. I try to be my best at work and with friends. I try to be less abrasive. Basically I strife to be mindful and live with awareness.
And on top of all that I love being alone. Sure, it feels like I do spend endless hours missing my days with him around, missing having his intellect, his loving and caring ways. I miss his smell, his touch, his voice, his sloppiness, his silliness, his science, his ideas, him.
We built a life together based on our ideals of a fulfilling relationship - where the value of our romance was not based on the number of hours we spent together, but rather it's about what we bring to share in the hours we spend together. We treasured what we did apart as individuals. The sum of our romance was who we are when we do things NOT being together, so when we get together we combine our passions as a unit.
That could be the reason why I have become so compatible to solidarity.
So much so that I find myself wondering much, "Is there anything wrong with me, like this?"
In a society where piety, and company of family and friends are highly prized - I feel like a delinquent..preferring my own company to another human being.
But hey, I am fantastic with people. When am with people, I am good fun and a functional company.
I just don't need too much of it.
But yet, I have a keen interest in people. People amuse and fascinate me. I can spend whole day (away from pages in a book) watching and study people.
According to David Foster Wallace, fiction writers have this syndrome too - the passion of standing at the side to look and stare, ogle at others. Well, I am not a fiction writer, I just enjoy looking on.
So yea, I wonder if this over-compatibility to solidarity is a sign of selfishness? A syndrome to an illness?
Am hungry now and I have a manicure and pedicure appointment in an hour's time. Best I get some urgent done before I get out to beautify myself. How lovely that I can order in a wonderful sandwich at the salon while Joanne works on my nails.