How to be a Hermit

Lately I’ve been reading a fair bit about the loneliness of successful men.  This includes the biography of Charles Schulz, the creator of Peanuts; Simple Curiosity, which is a collection of letters from George Gaylord Simpson, well-noted paleontologist, to his family; and John Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley in search of America.  All of these books deal with the profound loneliness of great men, who were usually surrounded by people that liked them, or at least in Steinbeck’s case, made friends easily by the application of whisky.  It just so happens that I’m reading these books as I start a new geographic chapter in my life, the way that I start out in any new area: by being completely alone in the crowd.   It is one thing entirely to be alone when one is truly by one’s self.  When I lived out in the desert of northern Arizona, I only remember rarely feeling the pangs of longing for another person.  Reminders that I was missing something didn’t surround me.  Here in Tennessee, as it was when I was working independently in Utah, or traveling to Monterey, I don’t know anybody, not even someone that can make introductions for me. 

Of course, I am more acutely aware of this absence because of the books that I’m reading.  The rain hasn’t helped at all either.  But then, I know of no more sure fire way to stop the rain than for me to buy an umbrella, except possibly for me buying two.  I did in fact buy two, and wouldn’t you know it, the rain has stopped  I consider it money well spent).  Perhaps I should also pick up Cuppy’s How to be a Hermit again.  That is the one book that has ever made me feel much better about my naturally hermitic tendencies.  I suppose a third read through wouldn’t hurt me, although I need to find someone that can repair the book’s ancient binding lest I hurt the book.