On This Date in History (Well, Close Enough)
If you'll indulge me, for no particular reason I present to you:
Sunday, January 31, 1982. Freiburg, Germany (age 20): I hate weekends here. I'm sick of the solitary, sedentary life I lead in my room, reading, writing, or just listening to the radio. It's better than in the beginning in that now there are people I can go visit when I'm bored, but that's part of the problem. I'm always going to visit people, and I hardly ever get visits myself. . . . I seriously think that if I had enough things to do or people to see to fill all my time, I wouldn't mind never being in my room except to sleep. I hate it here. I hate being alone. I want to be with people -- desperately. I know other people don't feel this as strongly as I do. But then again, they have people coming to see them and more options for filling time than I do.
I then go on to talk about (1) visiting Joe (my American crush) earlier that evening -- "but he had been sleeping and I didn't want to bore him"; (2) a surprise party on the previous Thursday night for a German woman, Rita, at which I sat around singing with her, Dan, Matt, Stephanie, Mary, and Ann while Dan played guitar; (3) dinner Friday night with Allen, who made pizza "from scratch" for me: "He's a nice guy but very boring sometimes." (Hmm, judgmental much? Hard to please much?); (4) getting together on Saturday with Mimi, Ginger, and Joe to plan our forthcoming trip around Europe during the semester break; and (5) later that same night -- "the bar, where else? It was fun."
Every time I read this journal from my junior year abroad, it amazes me how I insisted on being miserable and lonely while I was surrounded by people who seemed to enjoy my company quite a lot and while I seemingly had so many social opportunities that you'd think I would relish the chance to kick back in my room with a good book now and then!
But I also remember how ill equipped I was to enjoy my own company in those days, how much I longed to be part of something larger so I wouldn't have to face down that fire of solitude -- which, truth be told, I did have maybe a bit too much experience with -- and try to get to know it as something far gentler than fire as well. To embrace its gifts, its opportunity.
I reread this journal every now and then to remind myself how far I've come, to appreciate the balance I have in my life today between solitude and friends. Sometimes the scale feels out of whack. But at least I have the wherewithal to try to correct it when it happens. And to know not to dismiss two good things when I see them: time alone and time with others.
Sunday, January 31, 1982. Freiburg, Germany (age 20): I hate weekends here. I'm sick of the solitary, sedentary life I lead in my room, reading, writing, or just listening to the radio. It's better than in the beginning in that now there are people I can go visit when I'm bored, but that's part of the problem. I'm always going to visit people, and I hardly ever get visits myself. . . . I seriously think that if I had enough things to do or people to see to fill all my time, I wouldn't mind never being in my room except to sleep. I hate it here. I hate being alone. I want to be with people -- desperately. I know other people don't feel this as strongly as I do. But then again, they have people coming to see them and more options for filling time than I do.
I then go on to talk about (1) visiting Joe (my American crush) earlier that evening -- "but he had been sleeping and I didn't want to bore him"; (2) a surprise party on the previous Thursday night for a German woman, Rita, at which I sat around singing with her, Dan, Matt, Stephanie, Mary, and Ann while Dan played guitar; (3) dinner Friday night with Allen, who made pizza "from scratch" for me: "He's a nice guy but very boring sometimes." (Hmm, judgmental much? Hard to please much?); (4) getting together on Saturday with Mimi, Ginger, and Joe to plan our forthcoming trip around Europe during the semester break; and (5) later that same night -- "the bar, where else? It was fun."
Every time I read this journal from my junior year abroad, it amazes me how I insisted on being miserable and lonely while I was surrounded by people who seemed to enjoy my company quite a lot and while I seemingly had so many social opportunities that you'd think I would relish the chance to kick back in my room with a good book now and then!
But I also remember how ill equipped I was to enjoy my own company in those days, how much I longed to be part of something larger so I wouldn't have to face down that fire of solitude -- which, truth be told, I did have maybe a bit too much experience with -- and try to get to know it as something far gentler than fire as well. To embrace its gifts, its opportunity.
I reread this journal every now and then to remind myself how far I've come, to appreciate the balance I have in my life today between solitude and friends. Sometimes the scale feels out of whack. But at least I have the wherewithal to try to correct it when it happens. And to know not to dismiss two good things when I see them: time alone and time with others.
posted by Billy at 11:55 PM
2 Comments:
It's so great that you kept a journal! When I went abroad during my sophomore year, I kept a journal for about ... oh ... 2 weeks. Then, I got tired of writing everything down. I did make a pretty kickass scrapbook though.
I wonder where it is?
I'm so glad I kept a journal too. It's one of the few periods in my life I was dedicated to one. So many other periods I wish I had!
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