I’m writing this mail from a bench at a pond quite like Walden. Took a short detour while walking home and decided to sit awhile and watch the ducks. It’s so pleasant! The season here is just perfect. There are ducks splashing in the water nearby, the sound of kids playing in the lawn behind me, a distant church chimes in the background somewhere and the sun is setting slowly. The evening couldn’t get any more perfect.
Darling, every day we learn, don’t we? At least in all the years that I have lived, I’ve learnt that I know more than the day before. I’ve reached points where I’ve thought there is no more to learn, only to be dunked under a wider pool of knowledge that I had never known before. Not without reason do they say that knowledge is knowing how much you don’t know. When I started off as a serious 20 year old, wishing to uproot the settled dust in my life.. thinking that I was unique in my feelings of restlessness and need for change, I’d thought I had it all figured out. I read Thoreau without even needing to read it because I knew what he talked about when he described his urge to live at Walden. I wanted to find my own Walden. I thought I knew. Now, a few years later I realize I knew nothing. I didn’t know homesickness then. I didn’t know what it takes to be alone. I thought the few hours I used to spend by myself at home was solitude. I didn’t know what it truly meant to be solitary in your lifestyle. I probably still don’t know. I’ve come to realize that any experience that we feel is unique only to us is never really so. Six billion and more of us around, there’s no way I am in any way exclusive. Rather than being insulted, I take comfort in that fact. Sounds like I’m on some track, if not the right one.
Sweetheart, the heart’s wishlist constantly changes, now doesn’t it. Your deepest, darkest desire is rarely the same over a period of time. I thought I wanted the rawest and most naked feelings for my mind. Wanted to feel every decision to the marrow of my bones. When I got that, I wanted the numb pleasantness of the ordinary, the trivialities that come with living in a family. When I got that, I thought I wanted a singular love, companionship. And when I got that too I felt as though I wanted freedom. Can the heart never want what it has? I guess the feeling of wanting goes redundant then. What do we really want? Family, love, happiness. I want ignorance. I don’t want to know what I have. I want to wake up and do my daily day just because I have to and not think about what my heart wants. It can kill you, you know. This wanting in your heart. This yearning to have a hand to hold during sunsets and the yearning to not be held onto when you do. I don’t want pauses in my daily life. I especially don’t want to stop and smell the roses, if I can help it.
I’m sorry to say I cannot follow your path. I cannot live in that cabin of yours called Solitude. It takes too much of me, and leaves a heavy ache somewhere between my throat and my heart. Solitude is for a greater man, not for my soul. I don’t want great things. I live for simple things. I like to go to work, do my experiments, come back home and have chai with friends and cook dinner and watch tv, read a book and sleep. Maybe play a lil guitar, or play frisbee outside. I like nature and I like taking walks to see the sunset, to see the spring flowers and summer grass. But I cannot do it alone. I’m going home now, and I’m going to find my little bubble to live in Mr. Thoreau. I had a wonderful time at Walden, and I take a lot from that experience into my future.
But for now, I’m off to embrace that which defines me. The scared and insignificantly small bubble within which I shall find contentment.