Tonight, I stood outside on my balcony and looked at the trees. The air smelled good. It was nice. Every time I do something like this—every time I stop and just stare at the sky or trees or at the moon, for no other reason than the pleasure—I remember the time I spent alone. I remember how much I used to appreciate the sky and the trees and all the beautiful things in the world.
And how I felt, every day, like they were mine.
Being lonely inspired me. It made me think and feel everything more strongly. It made me believe that the world was full of possibilities.
It made me deep.
In his book Bluebeard, Kurt Vonnegut described one of his characters who had just arrived in New York City for the first time. He said it was like he had just been born. It was like it was his first day out of the womb and into the world.
And that is how I used to feel every day.
Tonight, I didn’t feel like I’d just been born. But, after a couple of years of trying to live more the way I really want to live, of being open to new things and new people and all of the different emotions, even the bad ones, I am feeling more of what I used to feel again.
I am feeling inspired.
Even though I live in the suburbs. Even though, someday, I will probably get a car.
Because, after all, I can still take walks. And I can still not buy things I don’t need and not be materialistic. I can still be romantic. I can still write poetry.
I can still refuse to get old.
Anyway, in many ways, what I feel now when I’m by myself is better than what I felt before. I don’t just have hopes anymore; now, I have goals. The things I want to do are the things I will, someday, actually do.
I’m a real adult now, after all. Not just a person in college.
I have power.
I am not only thinking about all the things I want to do in life.
I am living.
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