I left home today. I said my goodbyes to my parents. And the
dogs. And the cat. And the house. I cried to much. I had a headache by no later
than noon. After a long drive, I hugged my boyfriend in the middle of the
airport and sobbed into his shirt. And, like any good romance movie, I glanced
back at him as I walked into the distance. On my third, or so, glance, he was
gone. Immediately I sent him a picture of my tearstained face and realized, in
a sort of unromantic reality check, that, my iPhone leaves me about as close to
me as he would be otherwise. I waited and waited and waited some more,
surprised by the number of travellers for a Monday afternoon. And I found a
seat in the middle seat, in the middle of the plane and sat down. And I felt
pains of loneliness, a real and scary “I am actually on my own” feeling.
Too tempted by the allure of Facebook, I paid a ridiculous
eight dollar fee and logged on. And I realized something: solitude is outdated.
I can sit on an airplane as I leave my home and talk to the people I just
wished goodbye. And I find myself slightly disappointed. I suppose I expected a
mature solitude of sorts. Leaving home, I wanted to feel alone. I am comforted
so quickly, so thoroughly by the internet. And I think that is sad. So maybe I
should and I absolutely could unplug and live without Facebook, and Instagram
and Twitter, but I won’t.
And I make no effort to be misunderstood; the thought of
home already makes me homesick, I can’t wait until my boyfriend gets off work
so I can call and hear his voice and writing my sister as I am flying into the
unknown makes me safe. But, just for a moment, I found myself nostalgic for a
world without that comfort. And perhaps my wish will be granted. Almost
undoubtedly it will. And when I am scared and alone, and feeling rather brave,
I might just keep my computer closed and my phone off and really feel the
newness of where I am and where I am going.
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