A decade ago I was living in a faraway city, living a life that now feels like something of a distant dream. It’s hard to imagine myself as that person. Instead, when I think of that time, it’s like watching a character in a movie…I see a “she” living out her utterly different life, and not entirely a “me.”
In many ways it was a charmed existence: cheap rent, a beautiful tree-lined street, two close friends living in my building, work that I was inspired by, a sense of having a creative community, a home I loved. I treasured my singleness and freedom, but I was also yearning yearning yearning to have a partner in life. A family. Someone to cook with, and to watch the summer evenings fade towards indigo.
I often walked the neighborhood streets at night hearing other peoples’ parties, wondering if I would ever be one of those people in one of those homes, living an abundant life. Well, as I see it now, of course I was already having an abundant life, and there are things I miss about that chapter of my existence in the extreme. The grass is always greener, and so on and so forth.
About this time I was working as an art director for some filmmaker friends and I wrote a piece that I imagined as a very short film. It was called, “Days of Solitude,” which my days at the time most certainly were. The narrative, which I envisioned as a voice-over, tidily handled some of the things that I felt so heavily, so desperately at that moment of my life.
The reflection was based upon my visits to a place along the river where I would escape from city life frequently; a place of great natural beauty and deep serenity that often made me feel less alone. I won’t transcribe the piece in its entirety here, but I’ll leave you with a taste: