Inevitably, in cyclical fashion, the introspection of late has turned slightly more sober, and I have been thinking about the ways in which we of the human persuasion often feel uncomfortable when we come to rest and have no distractions. It is then that we are confronted with ourselves and  the potential emptiness, fears, whatever we have inside. This is how addictions are born, to drown out that niggling voice, fill that deadness. Drugs, sex, cigarettes, alcohol, work, television, internet, food, books, the telephone, gardening, shopping, partners, sports, video games, pick your poison, and I think we all have a poison, some more detrimental than others. And I make a distinction here between use of those things for a defined purpose or enjoyment, and use of those things in a knee-jerk reaction to fill the emptiness when faced with a lull in life. Use versus abuse. I see the use of these crutches in all of us, and while I don't know the individual nuances of all people's personal addictions, I do know addiction, and they are all rooted in the same thing, variances on a common theme. I've been trying to turn off my own distractions lately to tune into myself, and it has been rather eye-opening, though not entirely successful, to say the least. What to do, what to do, when the computer is turned off, the television turned off, and my plans fallen through on a Friday night. Self-banned from the internet, the bottle,  the fridge, or a call to a friend, I found myself filled with anxiety. I avoided the knee-jerk fixation on someone outside of me, wouldn’t allow myself to get in my car.

And here I will be honest and admit that my psyche, in its stubbornness against being still, then turns to what I term “the prowl” (or on occasion, a “car prowl”, i.e. “a drive”) when I feel ready to climb the walls of my apartment. It’s somewhat of a dirty secret, like the bottle under the sink. So call this a public confession. I have always been a walker, and I particularly like to walk at night, observing, always kind of hoping for something to surprise me out there in the night. Unfortunately for surprises (and fortunately for my safety), I’m more street-smart in my older age, and I don’t actually get into the backs of strangers’ pickup trucks in the rain, hop fences, swim in the ocean at 2 in the morning, or crash random parties anymore like I did in my “invincible” youth, so my “prowls” now usually involve covering many blocks of city streets and ignoring the occasional drunken catcall. The distraction now is usually more observational than participatory. But it’s a distraction from the four walls and myself no less, and after my prowl tonight, I had to take pause. With nothing and nobody to fixate on, I’m at a loss. Time to turn inward. It’s a good thing, but often uncomfortable.

And of course, I say this all publicly, I hope without fear of judgement, because I see commonality in you, my friends, and want to share. I know you drink to fill the void, or work so much to forget your loss, or spend untold hours looking at porn or chatting on the internet because you lost your passion or freedom of youth, or talk on the telephone even when you have nothing to say because of the silent emptiness when you hang up. All distractions from whatever’s there when you are alone with yourself. But my challenge to myself, and to you if you’re willing, is to sit with the discomfort some time to see who we are and feel what we feel when we don’t have our crutches.