The Hard Days

There are days when solitude is glorious. when I know that a moment on the rocks at the oceanside belongs only to me, and that no one else could share it, even if they were present.
And there are days when aloneness is stifling. It feels like there is no one I can connect to in the way I want, that I am floating in listlessness, that opportunities for rich experiences seem to be everywhere but for some reason I'm not able to bring them into reality.
These are days when from lack of external distraction I am forced to encounter some cobwebbier corners of myself. To hear myself talk in my head, and watch how I treat myself when I'm frustrated, impatient, wanting for something different but not knowing what. To deal with one part of my brain judging my whole person for not being as intrepid as I think I should be to make cool things happen. To listen to my brain tell me that if I just let things and people happen when they do, and not take greater charge of my trip, that I'll just keep missing out.
I've been having trouble being decisive about where I'm going because of a fear that where I'm headed is going to be disappointing, not worth the resources of time and money, and that because I might not have done more research, it may not be the BEST POSSIBLE choice I could make. This though, is a mark of falling into the William Blake fallacy (see previous post). It is the false belief that you cannot find anything better than what you have now.
Some days one part of my brain is focused on getting productive things done - going to the post office, trying a new yoga class, making phone calls, writing emails - while the rest of me just wants to lie in bed and process the numerous involved conversations and short but sweet encounters I have had with travelers met every day. I remember every person I've had a meaningful dialogue with, and they have all become a part of me. There are so many new ideas that it is perhaps little wonder that every few days I need to lie around and do nothing to allow my brain and body to integrate it all.
And then there are days when I feel my own hardness coming out. When the Fuck-Off-Everyone mood comes over me, I can walk alone at night on a dark street, followed by a man harassing me, and imagine that he is not even there, using my non-acknowledgement of his presence as my silent weapon, knowing that if he tries anything more that I have fists, feet, and if necessary, a knife.
There are moments when I imagine taking the fingers of the next hand that tries to grope me and breaking them, and deriving a grim satisfaction from this possibility. Coming into touch with this focused, angry, destructive part of myself that feels like it could be capable of anything is darkly empowering. I have less and less tolerance for bullshit and ploys, of which there are here in plenty, to get my attention or my money.
What is trickier to discern is when someone, usually a single, unmarried man in his twenties or thirties is friendly, but in a way that is not immediately interpretable as trying to hook you into something. I want to be friendly. I want to share my ideas and culture and help someone practice their English. But more often than not this gives me only problems. It is a hard assumption to make that anyone who tries to pull you into conversation has an agenda, but unfortunately it has been my reality. We in North America are very polite, often willing to give the benefit of the doubt, and are at times gratuitous with how much we put up with. We do not easily say "Please stop talking to me, I am not interested in you." Instead we hope that nonverbal cues will make it clear. Over here it seems that even grudgingly given one-word responses paired with what would be considered the rudest body language at home (turning your back to someone, no facial expression while speaking, looking away while the other person talks) serves only as encouragement for the other person to keep talking as you are acknowledging his presence.
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Solitude will show some parts of yourself that you only had an inkling even existed. There is nowhere to go when it's just you. There is nothing to do but to meet yourself where you are. Maybe you'll do battle. Maybe you'll have a conversation. Maybe you'll stare yourself down. Maybe you'll just watch, and wonder who this person is, and how they got there, and where they're going next.
In any case, you'll know yourself a bit better.