There was an old Twilight Zone rerun I remember watching as a teen (“Time Enough at Last”, 1959), where I believe there was some sort of nuclear holocaust, and the only living person was this bookworm who was heavily henpecked by his wife. The guy was totally elated to be the only survivor, as he now was free from being bothered by everyone, and could spend the rest of his life doing what he loved, reading books. Of course as he made his way to the library, he ended up breaking his eyeglasses, tragically leaving him unable to read ever again in a world lacking ophthalmologists.
As a teen, I was jealous of this guy (up until the point where he broke his glasses). Books, primarily science fiction, were my escape. (If only I could have valued school books similarly, I wouldn’t have finished in the bottom third of my class in high school). Fast forward decades, I’m still the same person. I want to be left alone, all the time. But what kind of life is that?
Engaging with others for long durations is awkward and exhausting. The digital age is a godsend, being able to text and email instead of communicating in person on on the phone. Big group interactions are best proceeded by a few drinks to take the edge off.
I have a pretty clear idea of why I became this person. Part of the utility of this blog is to walk myself through how I got here, and possibly explore how I can mitigate these urges to be isolated. If nothing else, I’m sure that there are countless others that can relate. It is more than just shyness or introversion.
Sensus Communis 