My Hermitage

I worked the Friday night dinner rush and my friend, Kyle, that I used to work with back in the day told me that I'm not as outgoing as I used to be. It made me really sad at first. But I just don't know how to be more silly and bubbly than I already am. I am perfectly comfortable with the quiet, warm love that I feel like I give people. So why should I change when I'm just being the me that I've become over the last seven months? I never knew what it felt like to really be alone, and be at peace with it until recently. And, now that I am, I don't feel the need to be excessively outgoing. I'm not trying to impress anyone, and I'm not trying to make bffls. Maybe that's what I've lost: the desire to make a connection with people. Maybe I've lost my genuine touch. Or maybe, just maybe, I've gained the genuine love for people that I never had before, but it comes quietly instead of over-bearing or silly.

I finished reading The Great Gatsby again this afternoon and one of the characters, George Wilson, is described as a tired man. He wakes up tired, and lives in a town that is described as a gray land of ashes. When you're surrounded by colorful, lively, passionate people you become just that. But, when you're surrounded by selfish, lifeless people that live for nothing but giving the cold shoulder and eating the same three vegetables everyday of their life (potatoes, corn, and sweet peas are the only ones in our pantry), you slowly become that too, even if it's what you hate. I never thought I could ever be this unsocial and still be alive. If this had happened to me at 16, I would have felt a sense of entitlement on a social life. But coming back to this town, after being gone for so long, it's as if my friends have forgotten that I live here. I see them about as regularly as when I lived in Stillwater, only I live two blocks away, not two hours away.

Because I'm leaving, it's easy to be reclusive instead of going out and making new friends. Because I'm counting down the days until the rest of my life starts, it's easier for me to not create any new attachments, when I know I'm just going to miss everyone that I love terribly. It's easier to create that absence from my closest relationships now than it is for me to act like it's not coming and then feel the full shock in my heart and body. I've chosen this absence from others' lives, this life of a hermit. It doesn't make me happy, but it's a way to get by without getting my heart broken or dealing with the disappointment of insatiable love. Because I'm leaving Owasso, and I'm not coming back.

I don't know what awaits me in the Air Force, but I pray it's a thousand times better than the life I live now. Because I never realized how much I need people and friendships. Just like the saying goes "You never miss it until it's gone." I don't hang out with people anymore. I went from living with my best friends in a dorm for nine months, to living in a two-bedroom house with 29 incredible lovely women of God for three months, to a five bedroom house with two other people (who alienate me from their universe). But I chose this. If I had a better option, I would take it in a heartbeat, but this is rent-and-utilities-free living. Sometimes I think I'd be a lot happier if I was homeless though. Maybe when it warms up, I'll move into the playground down the street. I always have wanted to sleep outside and under the stars...

But this, just as every other season in my life, is temporary. When this day ends, another begins, and so continues my life until the day Jesus calls me home. Until April 5th, I will continue making secret compartments in books (following this tutorial), I will continue painting trees and frowning girls, and I will continue taking my rolls of lomography film to Walmart, because CVS fails at life.

I may not know you, but please know that I mean it when I say I love you.

Sincerely,
Kristen