I always knew I was no social butterfly but I never suspected that I might be qualified for the full-on nomenclature of hermit. And let’s be clear, I am in no way considering myself a religious type hermit, just one who wants to distance herself from society a bit. The more I am forced to
smile through endure tiresome social encounters, the more I long for a little cottage tucked away in a wonderful nook amidst nature.
Let me explore whether I am worthy of the title of hermit before I proclaim it to the world, shall I? From the countless cartoons I have watched:
1) A hermit is someone with unkempt, flyaway hair (did they forget to take a comb along when they quit social life?) – um, dirty hair is something I will never have so that point is a no-go.
2) They also have long straggly beards – not physically possible since I am a woman, though I believe I could stick on some dyed bits of straw to pass off as a beard. No! Too much trouble.
3) Hermits like to live in damp caves, covered in moss and will probably have a “Keep Away” sign, hammered down in front of said cave – now, I can see all sorts of wonderful ways to jazz up the “Keep Away” sign to really personalise it but….caves and dampness are icky and I would much rather run my hand along a rough textured wall than a slimy one any day.
4) The next most obvious thing would be limited or the braver absolutely-no-contact with other human beings – I have to say, the former does rather appeal to me. I have a handful of people I am close to and want to actually to sit down, natter and have a cuppa with, so this point seems valid.
What do you think? Do I come close to passing the test? Yeah, maybe not, I get your point. How would I blog or shamelessly self-promote my art, if I was tucked away from mankind somewhere, eh? That does not kill the dream of distancing myself from people I find wearisome. I am dreaming of a move (I seem to spend a lot of time doing that generally in life) and hopefully that should put some distance between intrusive people and yours truly. I fail to understand how being related to me, no matter how far on the branch of the family tree, gives someone the right to know the ins and outs of my life. Or even by virtue of the fact that you live in the house next to ours, or that my sister once went to school with your child when they were toddlers or that you do the alterations for our clothes. Maybe I am a social anomaly and what other people consider casual chit-chat irks me. I don’t know.
I do know, however, that I do not like being questioned about what I wear to bed or what I have cooked for dinner, right down to the nitty gritty of how much oil I used and which oil. These questions will no longer be a problem actually but I just mentioned them for dramatic effect. Back to the impertinent questions I field to my diplomatic mother on every occasion – I would just rather not be a part of those peoples’ lives or have them be a part of mine, however you want to look at it.
In all reality, what I want to do with my life is travel, write and paint as the main heroes. Until a few months ago I had buried these dreams and resigned myself to a life I had not imagined and kind of dreaded. Even the best things sometimes arrive in the disguise of a steaming pile of elephant poo. Feel free to quote me on that.
Everyone should have the freedom to live their life their way. I have a few supporters who always cheer for my side and to them I am so grateful. I don’t want to impose my views on anyone and neither do I want them to try to run my life. If I do not find a partner to share this life with henceforth then also I accept the challenge. I have my mum, my sister and a few good friends and they will do very nicely. Oh and these people are welcome in my proverbial cave anytime! Before I go I have to say – Thank you, you huge pile of stinky dung for giving me back my life!