I know that I am not alone in having considered what it would be like to live a solitary life, peacefully isolated from all.
Maybe it was reading Krakauer’s “Into the Wild” in 10th grade English class and wondering if I would ever grow tired of the Alaskan wilderness. Or watching “Maleficent” in 2014, half-envious that I did not grow up in a thatched roof cottage surrounded by forest. Or skimming my fingers over the oversaturated pictures of Jane Goodall in my third-grade science textbook and wishing that I too was one with the chimpanzees.
If not one of those three, maybe it was being so bothered by my open-mouth, gum-chewing coworker that I swore I could never tolerate another person.
Whatever the cause, whether out of admiration or annoyance, desire or desperation, the thought of immersing myself in nature, removed from humanity, has crossed my mind once or twice.
But alas, the question remains. Would I be happy?
(Do not fret dear friends and beloved family. As you will come to find out, I will remain a part of human civilization).
If I had to sum up my independence in two words, I would use happily and stubbornly.
I’m running to the thrift store real quick … No, it’s okay. I’ll be back soon. (This is the happy independence).
No, thank you. I will carry my backpack into the house because I am very much capable of carrying it. (This is the stubborn independence).
I’m going to my room. (This is the happy-stubborn independence).
I’m happy to report that most times if I’m in an independent mood, it’s the happy one. I love to make my way back to random flower-filled meadows I passed when I was driving along an unfamiliar road. I love to go for slow, quiet walks around the lakes while wondering which I will spot more of — constellations or raccoons (I’m happy with either outcome). I love to drive home from work listening to the same song on repeat (because I know I’m the only one who would choose to listen to “Dead Mom” from “Beetlejuice” four times in a row).
My happiness during these instances of independence leads me back to my initial question. Would I be happy? If I were to consider these instances with a narrow mindset, the answer would be yes.
However (you guessed it), in order to consider these instances, I must look at the entire picture.
Would I be happy picking a bouquet from a stray field if I wasn’t coming home to place it on my cluttered kitchen counter? To laugh about it being bug-infested with my brother? To remember that my dad’s favorite flowers are tiger lilies?
Would I be happy strolling around the lakes if I wasn’t heading back to my dorm to tell my roommate that the air smells like cool autumn? To recount with my RA how many couples I saw? To dream up a hopeful backpacking trip with my quad mates?
Would I be happy blasting the same song in my car again if I knew I wasn’t going to hear my mom playing “Tiny Dancer” in the kitchen later that night? To dance with my friends in a common room to songs I haven’t heard since middle school? To watch my parents practicing their H-O-T-T-O-G-O dance?
On Friday, I attended Father Dowd’s convocation and inauguration ceremony. I wore my favorite, pale green Lyons shirt and sat with friends from my dorm. I wasn’t too sure what to expect from the ceremony. I had obviously never been to one of these, but I jokingly assured my friends that it would involve less standing than Mass.
I was excited. I had never seen Fr. Dowd in person until he entered Purcell, and I had never heard him speak until he began his address. I was not disappointed.
His voice was kind, his smile genuine and his honor true.
Each of his thank you’s to his family, brothers and sisters in Holy Cross, late mother and first-grade teacher rang with an undeniable sweetness.
As I beamed with tears sitting in the corner of my eyes, I became aware of how happy I was for the stranger standing before me.
With that, I knew my answer.
Joy is complex. While we can experience our own independent happiness, there is a different type of happiness made possible when shared.
I could not be more grateful that others share their lives with me, allowing me to celebrate and cry with them, listen and love them. Equally, I could not be more grateful that others allow me to share my life with them. Because I surely do not say it enough: thank you.
It would be a shame to never realize how much happiness can come from others, and it would certainly be a shame to live a life alone, deprived of a complexity that reminds us of the good in opening our hearts.
I was never actually determined to sail off the grid, but only now do I realize the strength that keeps me on it. Cherish those who keep you connected. Love those who bring you joy.
