Solitary Resignment

Call me crazy, but I’ve often thought about what it would be like to be completely cut off from the rest of the world. I have a recurring day dream where I’m shipwrecked on a desert island, alone or with one other person, and forced to survive for months before I’m finally rescued. It’s a silly fantasy, and in real life I’d probably starve or die from heatstroke. But the daydream keeps coming back, so the idea must have a certain appeal.

I read a short story once (I can’t remember who wrote it) about a young man who bets a rival that he can stay cooped up in a small building with no outside contact for an entire year. Food is delivered to him through a small hole, and he is granted a piano and all the books he desires to read. I remember thinking that this sounded like a pretty good deal. As long as I had those things, and maybe some video games or something, a year would be a piece of cake, I thought. In the story the man went crazy and broke out just days before the year was up, and was never heard from again or something mysterious like that. It seemed to me like kind of a cheap ending. Surely it couldn’t be that bad, could it?

Well, for the past week I’ve lived a life of quasi-solitary confinement. Both of my roommates are out of town, and with no job or life that leaves me home alone all day. Of course, I do go out at night to perform at a local theater, and then there was Star Wars, but the overwhelming majority of my time has been spent alone. I didn’t think, beforehand, it would be a big deal. After all, its only a week. Within days, however, I was already losing my mind. I would wander from room to room of my empty house, not sure why or what I should do next. I tried playing computer games, but my interest waned. I tried watching TV, playing the piano, reading books, all those things I thought could easily occupy me not only for a week but for a whole year, like in the story. One memorable day I stretched out on the floor of my living room, face down, and remained there for at least an hour, failing to see any reason for moving.

I’ve never really considered myself a people person. In my childhood I was often content to play completely alone, which was fortunate because at that age I wasn’t very good at making friends. By the time the week was halfway through, however, I was desperate to make contact with another human being. I called up some friends, knowing they were probably busy or at work, just to talk. This is quite remarkable in my case because I avoid using the phone as much as possible and never call somebody just to chat. None of my friends answered the phone. Sanity was slowly slipping through the cracks of my pseudo-prison, leaving only a frenzied wreck that was once me behind. I tried to occupy myself, but none of my distractions could interest me for long. I tried looking for a job, which only depressed me further. Finally, when the silence was unbearable, I put myself to work.

I did the dishes. I washed my laundry. I got online and learned a bunch of exercises I could do to work off some of this extra flab I’ve earned from just sitting around all day. I went for a walk to the mall and the bookstore. I cooked dinner and made a smoothie. I started a blog. And then it struck me, today, at the end of my week-long hermitage, that this really isn’t so bad after all. The trick is simply to create a routine. Fill up your time, get things done. The fun stuff like computer games are much more fun after you’ve cleaned the kitchen. Maybe, just maybe, I could win the bet and survive the year alone through total mastery over self, sheer guts and willpower, and incredible discipline. Or maybe the author of that story was right, and I’d just go crazy.

Either way, when I pick up my roommate from the airport tomorrow, I expect I’ll wave my hands in the air like a maniac, signaling for a welcome rescue from this blasted island.