When I was 17 years old, I attended a boarding school in Massachusetts… that much I think you know.
When I was 17 years old, I was also very socially awkward… I think you may know that too. I had technicolored hair and a massive army print jacket that I wore around everywhere. I hung out under my bed and wrote fan fiction and read a lot of Charles Dickens. I had a black New York Yankees beanie, which I wore all year round because I couldn’t be bothered to comb my hair. I consumed coffee around the clock and not much else. I had no idea who I was: I spent most of my time trying on different characters and personas, startling those around me with how drastically I could change from one month to the next.
I was surrounded by people, but I felt very alone. I rather liked it.
I remember one afternoon, my father had come up to visit after a business meeting in Boston. I remember clearly walking up the hill that led to my school–it was cold, and leaves were cracking under our feet with each step–and my father giving me one of his speeches that he’s so famous for in my household. I don’t remember the exact words–I wish I could–but it went something along the lines of, “Man is a social being, you can’t spend your whole life being alone.”
At the time, I didn’t see why not: no one understood me, no one got me as well as I got myself. I was perfectly happy to dissolve into my writing, to perpetually have headphones on, to tune out the rest of the world. And why not? It’s so easy to be alone when you’re only pretending…
When I was in high school, I lived in a dorm. I had good friends, even if for awhile I hid out in my room away from them. My family was only an hour’s plane ride away. I was alone, but not really.
It’s different to actually be alone… really alone. It’s different to have your family far away and scattered and accustomed to you being gone all the time, to have all the people you know and all the people you used to know in other places, on other continents, with other lives so different than when you knew them. It’s different to wake up in the morning and not know who you’re going to see, to not know the next time you’ll hug someone, touch someone, kiss someone.
I don’t say this to be depressing–God knows I’ve had my share of ups and downs and this is not a down. I love being in San Sebastian, and I’m very excited by my life here. It’s just…
I remember, back in high school, not too long after my father gave me that speech, a dear friend of mine confessed his feelings for me, and I took pause: I knew immediately that that was not what I wanted, that I wanted to stay friends. And yet I contemplated, for just a few moments, how much easier life would be if I knew that there was always someone who loved and was thinking about me. That there was always someone I could call, if I ever needed, just to have someone to say “goodnight” to before falling asleep.
The English One constantly reminds me that the friendships I’ve come to savor, the ones that really matter, are few and far between–otherwise, they wouldn’t be worth the time and effort. I know this, and I appreciate it. But sometimes, I miss the days when it was so easy to be alone only as long as I wanted to.
On days like this, I believe that comfort food is in order, and something that can be made for one. I’m quite partial to oatmeal: simple and warm and sweet… exactly what I need on a contemplative day.
Maple Brown Sugar Oatmeal
1/4 cup oats
1 cup skim milk
1 tbsp. maple syrup
1 tsp. salt
water, if needed
1 tsp. butter
1 tbsp. brown sugar
Mix the oats, milk, maple syrup and salt in a saucepan and cook over low heat until all of the milk has been absorbed, stirring if needed, about 5 minutes. Add water if the milk evaporates too quickly to sufficiently cook the oats to your liking.
Serve in a deep bowl: immediately top with butter and brown sugar, and while waiting for them to melt, contemplate your life, preferably on a foggy fall day by a window.
