ALL MY LIFE I’ve been unable to see things the ‘right’ way, unable to feel what I was supposed to feel, unable to accept the ready-made values I was assigned. I know now, as the clock winds down for me (at 62, having just survived and still recovering from a life-threatening trauma), that I never will. I’ve lost friendships, romantic relationships and familial affection because of this. It’s cost me job opportunities and limited my success. As a child I was bullied for it. Because of it I will almost surely die alone, and very probably unlamented.
As the song says, I’m not like everybody else. I’ve never been acquisitive. I’ve never felt the urge to marry, have kids or sign a mortgage. I don’t drink coffee or eat eggs. I abhor sports. I don’t much care for dogs. I absolutely despise television. I prefer night time to daylight. I feel no pride in being white or male or American. I’m an atheist. My musical tastes are highly eclectic, and I’m a voracious reader. I am who and whatever I am, but my worst crime is doing what Henry David Thoreau called, in his essay Walden, “living deliberately.”
I not only believe in saying what I mean and doing what makes logical sense to me, but I’m repelled by socio-cultural obligations to do otherwise. People may think me a loner by constitution, but that’s not exactly the case. It would be more accurate to say that I just usually prefer being alone to the alternatives. Like an ill-fated mutt that never learned to wag its tail, I’ve never learned to sprout a phony smile on demand to make my way easier. Trying to survive in this fashion, deliberately, “by my own lights,” has shaped and complicated my life, and branded me outcast. Most people really didn’t like Thoreau a whole lot, either.
My mother, some fifty years ago, scolded me for willfulness, “One of these days you’re going to have to grow up and do what’s expected of you in this life.” I couldn’t see why then, and honestly, I still can’t. The majority say and do what’s expected their entire lives, without a thought. For the most part, though they end up unsatisfied, they never realize they had a choice. The training took. Maybe they couldn’t actually function any other way. But I’m conscious that there is a choice to be made, and I’m just one inconsequential human among billions. What does it matter if I go my own way?
As I mentioned in the May edition of this paper, I experienced a health issue that landed me in the hospital. I’ve since transferred to the rehab facility where I’m writing these words, ninety miles from my usual stomping ground, to regain my voice and ambulatory ability. I estimate my physical condition at 95% recovered now, and will soon be released.
I’m expected to eagerly accept lodging at a similar institution upon discharge from this place. This is never going to happen. I don’t need it. I don’t want it. I won’t do it. I can hear the criticism already, the judgments. I’m homeless, why shouldn’t I be glad of the opportunity to share a too-small room with a snoring, TV-watching stranger? Who doesn’t love the condescending tone of those in professional medicine? Why wouldn’t I look forward to industrialized food, the stench of incontinence, screaming in the night and the loss of freedom and independence? Why not sacrifice the space and peace necessary to follow my muse, and throw away writing, the only thing that gives my life meaning? Ought I not be glad to give almost all my meager income to purchase this undesirable existence?
I don’t want to go back to living in my car. I don’t enjoy it. I merely prefer it to the alternative. While the admonitions of friends and family are inevitable, I am making a choice. I’m not choosing to be homeless, I’m choosing freedom. If a dignified and non-prohibitive alternative occurs (like a place to live that I can actually afford), I will of course be interested. There is no belligerence in my decision, and though I know few will understand, I wish to assure them I’m not being contrary, only deliberate.
Special thanks to:
Jennifer, life saver,
Sammi, physical therapist,
Valerie, CNA,
Annika, speech therapist,
Natalie, respiratory therapist,
Travis, nurse,
Family and friends.
I know it wasn’t easy.
