January 2: "Highway," Inner Hermit, Hitchhiking

Billy Collins hitchhikes . . .

Highway

by:  Billy Collins

Hitchhiking alone,

I notice an ant

walking in the opposite direction.

I don't know if Collins ever went hitchhiking.  Of course, metaphorically speaking, everyone is on the road to somewhere.  As a poet, Collins certainly understands the need to move from one place to another--from the first word to the last word in a poem, for example.  I've said it before in previous posts, and I'll say it one more time:  change is inevitable.  Nothing stays the same, no matter how much you crave the status quo.

The other part of this poem equation is whether you hitchhike alone or with a companion.  I enjoy being left to my own devices.  However, human beings are social animals.  We all need a certain amount of interaction, even if it's with an ant walking away from you down a highway.  

Today, I spent a lot of time by myself.  I'm on vacation right now from all of my occupations.  For the next seven or so days, I am going to be indulging my inner hermit.  I'm not able to do this very often, as most of my jobs require a great deal of public interaction.  And I enjoy this interaction.  But I truly am an introvert at heart, so it takes a great deal of energy on my part to be in social situations.  At the end of most days, my peopling skills have been pretty much tapped out, and I need to recharge.

That's why I always take this first week of January off.  There's very little I'm doing for the next seven days that requires me to exercise my peopling skills.  I can stay at home, walk my dog, stream movies, read a book, write, and nap.  In fact, I've just listed all of my plans for the coming week.  (WARNING:  If you send me a text this week, it may take a while for me to respond.  If you call me, I probably won't answer.  And if you invite me to any kind of social gathering, I will politely decline.)

Think of me as that ant walking in the opposite direction, trying to escape human contact.

Saint Marty is now going to hitchhike to his couch, turn on a movie I've watched a hundred times before, and let the sun set outside his window.  A-L-O-N-E.