Both versions of me, since living alone, have settled into a one woman show that I star in and attend, that I produce and buy a ticket, but sometimes fail to show up to, because as it happens, living alone has only further indulged the woman — me — who cancels a plan to stay in and excitedly ad-lib doing nothing at all.
I’ve lived alone for quite a few years now. I’m not lonely, but am frequently alone. This is my default–my preference, given the choice.
Being alone much of the time gives me room. Room to explore. Room to “stay in and excitedly ad-lib doing nothing at all”. I love that last phrase, and doing nothing at all is my favorite thing to do.
Or it was.
I’m learning that not having any constraints with my free time leaves me wandering a little too aimlessly. I drift more than I do. I’m learning that one of the things I seem to enjoy most is actually making me less happy; less productive.
I have some ideas on how to change this, but they’re secret, for now.