No man is an island…
I want to be left alone.
The salad and spaghetti had been delicious. Now a few fellow vagabonds and I were sitting around, full, contented, getting philosophical.
The topic: What’s the most important thing you’ve learned since starting to live on the road?
My response: I learned I’m not as much of a recluse as I’d imagined.
The full-time mobile life was a natural fit for me. The solo wanderer living apart from mainstream society. The totally independent man. A hermit on wheels. No roots, no anchors. Woot!
You don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone
But being utterly, totally alone in the wilderness changes one’s perspective. “Normal” life is filled with intrusions and demands that make us introverts crave solitude. Take all that unwanted human interaction away, though, and one starts thinking it might be nice to have people to talk with, joke with, eat with. Not all the time, of course. That would be enervating. That would be something extroverts (ick) would do. But sometimes. Every few weeks. For a day or two. Maybe. Depending on my mood. And the weather. After all, I wouldn’t want the solitude enforcement squad to come take away my recluse credentials.
So, I guess my island would need occasional ferry service. Or a bridge. With guards.