There is probably a deep-seated fear hidden within me, which states that if I don't plan or don't initiate my weekends and reach out to people, I'll be forgotten and left to the dust. I guess we'll see if this fear is true or not. Funny because don't your deepest, truest fears are the ones that end up manifesting?
Either way, when Friday evening came around I was fully convinced that I probably won't be having any human interaction over the weekend - nobody was going to plan anything with me.
Nope, I wasn't about to be left alone, it seems. Saturday came and I was invited to visit MoMA with Steph, Corry, and Yvonne. We explored the museum and had a nice lunch at Xi'an Famous Foods. Good stuff. When Sunday came, a similar invitation came to visit the Brooklyn Museum. I voluntarily decided to be by myself today - I turned it down, and proceeded to do a lot of stuff. Perhaps.. I am beginning to enjoy this solitude.
Biologically speaking, we are hardwired to fear rejection, to fear isolation, because the caveman who didn't have a tribe didn't end up surviving against the wolves and mammoths.
Spiritually speaking, during the fall from grace, we deliberately broke off our connection with the divine and felt isolated. This pushes us to form connections with other beings, before reuniting (finding our way back) to the divine himself.
Personally speaking, I know that this challenge is two-folds. First is to be able to stay happy, peaceful, and productive in solitude. To enjoy one's own company, march along happily, and to sustain the internal dialogue in the midst of the crowd. But secondly this is also an exercise in manifestation and a test of faith.
For a person who is used to being controlled by his own ego, who trusts nothing but his own "logic and reason", who is used to having to reach out and initiate everything, surrendering and waiting to respond is not really different than skydiving with a tandem instructor in your back. You scream, and scream, but you realize that you have no control of your faith. It's scary to hurtle down the earth at dizzying speeds, but even scarier that you have no control over when your parachute pops open. What if the dude behind you falls asleep, or faints? What if the parachute malfunctions? What if the straps that links you to him breaks?
Well, I know, because I have been there.
I remembered screaming and screaming, until my lungs felt about to burst open. But then I realized that I couldn't even hear my own voice, because the air was so thin so high up. I thought that either I could a) continue screaming and struggling or b) enjoy the seemingly infinite vista from 14,000 feet. I reasoned that I would choose to enjoy the view, the feeling of hurtling down, and the force of air and gravity against me, because if I do end up dead splat on the ground, I'd rather not have a parched throat with that.
Not different than the skydiving experience, I also chose this. I chose to experiment with this strategy. I chose to be far, here in New York. I chose to live this life, in this body, to take this journey. Sure, perhaps the next few weeks or so might seem that I am hurtling down to the ground, or it may seem so quiet and lonely like when it happens when the air is thin. But I shall resolve to stop screaming nor worrying. I shall resolve, instead, to enjoy this majestic view, this wonderful panorama, of the world and the life that I have chosen to thread.
The parachute shall open in no time, as always, and I'll be in the ground again, thanking myself that I have chosen this path.
I am enough :)
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