Bruce Banner. The Fugitive. Caine. Whether I’m running, chasing, or wandering, it’s a self-imposed isolation made less desperate through motion. All I need is an excuse and I’m off.
Step Five: admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
For me, holing up has always been my go-to solution. I’d even make up problems just to solve them through solitude. The weird part is, the separation works. I get to reset, calm down or charge up, depending on the situation, and re-enter the general stream of consciousness that exists in the day-to-day world. The problem becomes one of timing; I quite often overstay my welcome in Aloneville; a town I should be passing through, not looking to put down roots and set up shop. Because my shop is at the end of a dead-end alley, and only offers outdated produce and crazy self-assertions.
It’s an odd wrong to be admitting to, but it’s at the core of all my problems: I’ve never known when to leave well enough alone. Overdoing something often seems like the only way to do something, even if that means destroying the very thing I love in the process.
Today and for the future: Set a timer. Sometimes it’s that literal.