28 and counting.

And then there was nothing.

This is the first day- perhaps in my recollected past- where this trite phrase, this cliched, overdramatic sentence passed through my head- fueled by undeniable sincerity.

There was nothing, and then..

Yoga in the park yesterday, surrounded by hundreds of others, stretching to the sounds of Led Zepplin, encircled by the blue reflection of a Saturday morning in the buildings of a retiring morning, no pulse yet in the pavement. The voice which commanded our contortions told us to imagine our dream. The image that came into my mind- a small chalet on Lake Geneva. Living alone in a crisp, modern, minimal home. Writing pieces on development, on health care. Having the memories of time spent in the field. Perhaps the memories of personal entanglements that would merit a passing neural flight. But alone.

And then nothing was there.

Is this solitude, this "complicated solitude" as my latest book would parrot, really a dream? Or a dream composed of an acceptance of my limitations? In the minds of those around me, I imagine lives littered with loves, both new and lost, families, human connections. Frail, tenuous, human connections. And yet- when given the cosmos to fashion a vision, I find myself alone. That same memorable of tremulous loneliness I felt in London so long ago. Desperate for human connection, but still something proudly redeeming, something accomplished- in those days on end spent traversing the old city alone.

Other travels have served as a reminder of this paradox: the dream of solitude, but the human need for connection. The basis of a thousand works, and yet a motif I would constantly cycle back to. Always finding the quiet stoic, the learned man who seeks company and yet is still somewhat apart: this I find most moving, most uplifting. Always looking at those grounded most strongly in the world as alien. This mental drive- this dream that appeared from the ether as quickly as it was required of me...

Nothing.

How can I rectify these with the days spent locked in semi-sleep, waiting simply for time to pass. Enjoying that boundary of consciousness and sleep, where daydreams and longing pass into that realm where for a few transitory hours, the random firings of sleep draft a new reality. And in these realities: there is some way to make this solitude tolerable. I have not yet determined how to pass these subconscious dreams into an actionable... life.

28- no significant relationships to speak of. And yet, this is the part of my character, my life narrative with which I am most accepting. Perhaps I no longer, or never did, find this to be part of the life I expected. I want people who fascinate me, who challenge me, who can torture themselves in word and thought the same way I can. This brings me elation, fulfillment.

But even now- most of those people are gone. Too many years spent in too superficial of relationships thinking it would protect me from days like this. And now that a shift has occurred- that a loner begins to occupy the body of a former butterfly, so few are left. I find myself missing the conversation, those individuals, when I need not a solution, not a new path, but... to bring these thoughts into the world, to make them real through language outside of my own meandering rambles. To bring them into the world, they seem less daunting. And perhaps less isolating. I have lost those bridges to reality.

I have no career trajectory of which to speak- despite having had multiple opportunities, backing from people who found me brilliant with little effort. The confidence I used to have in those abilities, beginning to flag, as I can no longer harness them in the direction I once could, with outside reinforcement, with concrete goals.

My family- a world of concern, and yet there will always be a bit of a divide. A chasm of insecurity I will never quite be able to cross.

These passive thoughts, and beginning to become- more real. Not in action, but in sentiment. No reason to be awake. Nothing to rally my will around. When did this flee? Why felt so acutely now? Surprisingly, I can tolerate the passage of time much more easily, the purgatory of days repeating.

Nothing. And then there was...