Seneca, Moral Letters 80.1

Letter 80: On worldly deceptions
 
Today I have some free time, thanks not so much to myself as to the games, which have attracted all the bores to the boxing match. No one will interrupt me or disturb the train of my thoughts, which go ahead more boldly as the result of my very confidence. 
 
My door has not been continually creaking on its hinges, nor will my curtain be pulled aside; my thoughts may march safely on—and that is all the more necessary for one who goes independently and follows out his own path. 
 
Do I then follow no predecessors? Yes, but I allow myself to discover something new, to alter, to reject. I am not a slave to them, although I give them my approval. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 80 

 
For the longest time, I jumped back and forth between the extremes of forcing myself to be sociable and then hiding myself in a box, desperately uncertain about whether I was meant to live with others or to go my own way. In her usual manner, Philosophy explained to me why the answer was always a resounding “yes”. 
 
A man is his own thing, and then he is also bound up in everything. There is no dichotomy here, only a harmony. 
 
My own temperament is what they now call “introverted”, so I originally took it for granted that solitude was my natural state, where I could recharge my energy before facing the rest of the world. I eventually realized how not everyone is wired in the same way, that some people are at their best in a crowd. That is not me. I unfortunately began to resent the “extroverts”, who have a knack for taking charge, and who bully others to participate in their tedious events. 
 
The wife also claims to be an introvert, but I beg to differ. She enjoys having fancy dinners with folks from work, and I just sit there forcing a smile, worried about saying something clever without being offensive, while wishing I could be reading a book about some obscure period of history, smoking my pipe, and listening to a cantata by Bach. It’s okay, though, because we complement one another quite nicely. 
 
Yet with all my peculiar inclinations, I do understand why I am made for others. It just takes an immense effort on my part, and as I get older, it only becomes ever more difficult. I know I am called to love my neighbor, without any conditions, but please grant me a moment of silence to catch my breath before I enter into the fray. 
 
One of my fondest and most vivid memories is of football games on Saturdays at my old college. No, I did not attend them, as I get edgy in a throng, and I can’t bear yelling, and I find no pleasure in seeing burly men slamming into one another. I would rather sit in my girlfriend’s dorm room, gazing out over the playing field from a comfortable distance, while drinking Bass Ale, smoking Rothman’s Red, and listening to albums by Marillion. 
 
Sharing cigarettes with experience
With her giggling jealous confidantes,
She faithfully traces his name
With quick bitten fingernails
Through the tears of condensation
That'll cry through the night
As the glancing headlights of the last bus
Kiss adolescence goodbye
 
Good times! 
 
The opening of this letter takes me right back to that place. Yes, I have always been that annoying fellow who follows his own path. No, I no longer believe that the path is taken without a load of sound guidance. 
 
Should I do it on my own terms, or should I listen to others? Once again, Philosophy tells me “yes”. Those who are wiser and better than me lay out my options, yet I am the one who must make the final call, suited to my own particular circumstances, for better or for worse.
 
Despite what my English professor told me, Dostoyevsky does not have all the answers to my questions. He offers his suggestions, and I will choose what to do with them. Even as I am surrounded by the multitude, I stand alone. 

—Reflection written in 11/2013 

IMAGE: Jean-Leon Gerome, Solitude (1890)