Sometimes I feel a bit constrained and out of sorts with my surroundings.
This feeling hits me especially hard when I find myself in social gatherings of kind folk I hardly know. Social graces expect little more than polite small talk. Seems I’ve never mastered that critical skill.
I’ll try to find a quiet corner, not conspicuously alone. But most large gatherings of folk, especially inside stick houses, will leave me feeling a bit claustrophobic. Claustrophobic and looking like a duck out of water:
But then I’ll sneak away to my beloved Brazos Bend:
I’ll walk the park and look outward. I stumble upon a quiet gathering of Mother Nature’s creation, where communal silence seems to replace small talk.
Would I fit in I wonder? Or do even these quiet societies have those that need a quiet away, to look beyond their own one life? And without realizing it, do we quiet ones seek solitude in places that remind us of our own kind?
And then Mother Nature tells me that it’s not about the group gatherings or the one alone. It’s about looking out and beyond my own one life.
It’s about finding that place, and that way of living, that is so much more than I am, alone.