THAT TYRANT, AMBIVALENCE

Left to my own devices, I often choose to be alone. I work alone so solitude is necessary. But when I have nothing in particular to do, solitude feels comfortable and rich; my mind and curiosity are very good companions. I feel like I have all the time in the world. It feels like freedom. 
     I'm not often lonely - which is very different than solitude. Loneliness feels as if I'm incomplete; I feel a longing for someone or something I don't have. Loneliness asks the outside world to come in and make a change, and it makes me feel as if there's something wrong with me. 
      I once said to someone that I spend too much time alone. She said, "You like to be alone. What's wrong with that?" There's the rub, another appearance by my old friend "should." I should be different than I am, do different things than I do. It's ambivalence as a tyrant, not letting me rest peacefully in my choices. 
     But I've had a lot of time getting to know the place in me where my ambivalence and all those shoulds live. Sometimes they fully claim me and seem my only reality. But in fact I always have another choice: I can sit quietly, focus and after a while watch them dissolve and drift away. As they go, they leave behind the space where peace and acceptance live and, after another while, I know that I'm all right. 
     
(There's a very interesting book by Robert D. Putnam on the collapse of community in America. It's called "Bowling Alone," the saddest title I've ever come across, more than sad - tipping over into despair.)