I have always had an affinity with hermits. When I was a little girl I envied old ladies because the day was their own. If they so wished they could stay home and talk to no one. There wasn't a soul in the world who could tell them what to do. That was my idea of heaven; a continuous option to not leave the house. I found the world to be quite terrifying and people overwhelmed me constantly. Recently my sister pointed me in the direction of a blog called Momastery just so I would read this one paragraph -
"Some of us are born with an otherness that we feel right away . . . awareness of our otherness is often our first memory. We have this feeling that maybe we were dropped off in the wrong place, because nothing seems familiar. The people in this strange and harsh and confusing world require us to play role after exhausting role. We are afraid of things that don’t seem to scare other people. Friendship, love, commitment . . . these things seem so big, so important, so murky and confusing and dangerous…how could we dare enter into them? We decide it would be safer not to. We see that other people seem comfortable taking these risks, but we feel different. We feel more aware, and less capable. We rationalize that maybe others take all of these risks because they don’t foresee the pitfalls that we see. We decide, subconsciously or not, that we are different. And we are so full of this knowledge of our difference that we must find a way to relieve our fullness. We are like volcanoes with no exit for our hot lava."
The othernessI understand. I used to call it skinlessness, because it seemed that everything touched me. I had no barriers against the world. In some ways as I get older this gets worse. I can hardly watch the news. So many things make me cry. But suddenly after a life of hermitish feelings, I realised something odd. I love people. What? I KNOW! Being at home for the last four months has taught me this. I loved being alone for maybe two months. Oh yes, that was pure bliss. But now? Now I find myself looking for my people.
What I always dream of is this. A creative community. And I don't know why but when I imagine them they are always women. Many of them are older, and they are always laughing. Some of them wear eccentric outfits which is great because that gives you permission to turn up wearing your tie dyed petticoat and bird leggings. They seem to garden a lot and talk about life deeply, but not seriously, because they have learned very few things in life are truly serious. I do not know where to find these people and that troubles me. I want to be an artist forever, I want to create forever, but suddenly and surprisingly I no longer feel I can do it alone.
"Admit it. You aren’t like them. You’re not even close. You may occasionally dress yourself up as one of them, watch the same mindless television shows as they do, maybe even eat the same fast food sometimes. But it seems that the more you try to fit in, the more you feel like an outsider, watching the ‘normal people’ as they go about their automatic existences. For every time you say club passwords like ‘Have a nice day’ and ‘Weather’s awful today, eh?’ you yearn inside to say forbidden things like ‘Tell me something that makes you cry’ or ‘What do you think deja vu is for?’ Face it, you even want to talk to that girl in the elevator. But what if that girl in the elevator (and the balding man who walks past your cubicle at work) are thinking the same thing? Who knows what you might learn from taking a chance on conversation with a stranger? Everybody carries a piece of the puzzle. Nobody comes into your life by mere coincidence. Trust your instincts. Do the unexpected. Find the others.” - Timothy Leary
So, if you have a creative community, please do tell me where you found them. I am most anxious to find the others.
P.S If you managed to read to the end of this post congratualtions and apologies! I think it's the longest one I've ever written!