There are days when I am very thankful for the advent of social media and networking. As an info junkie it keeps me informed, and as a sometimes social butterfly I flit from flower to flower a few times a day to achieve a semblance of a social life, which is an activity that happens to be in lieu of more tangible interactions with actual, touchable, acquainted and friendly human beings. However, often I contemplate receding from social media and fully embracing what would be a truly hermitic existence, the company of my nuclear family notwithstanding, of course. To what benefit, one might wonder? Hmm. I can only imagine the amount of writing I could get done. Perhaps some time better spend reading books? Playing my shamefully neglected guitars? Actually sit my restless self down to watch movies, like old times? Catch up on sleep? Study the culinary arts? The most rewarding of all those things, of course, is the writing. While in retreat I could simply create a surrogate reality with my ability to put words into sentences, combine sentences into paragraphs and arrange paragraphs into pages as I create stories. Were I on some kind of great retreat, say, on a remote island with nothing even coming close to resembling the din of urban noise, or the virtual white noise of social media — yes, I would write stories to fill that void. And, I suppose, I’d also do a great deal of reading and listening to music. These are three of my most favorite things to do when on my own and not punching into a someone else’s clock. The commonality between that triad of activities is that their occupation of one’s time is most optimal away from the larger world, in solitude.
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Listened: Daughter, Sean Lennon, Angus & Julia Stone
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