Out in the Cold

I check to make sure my shirt is tucked in. Jeans with holes don’t make the grade. Wet skin dries out. Fast. The cold is dishonest. You feel fine for two blocks, and then the cracks show. My scarf isn’t covering the right side of my neck and after 10 blocks of walking in 28 degree cold it starts to hurt. Because it’s not getting warmer; the sun’s gone down and the temperature drops. Fast. Like fall in West Texas; 35 degree drops in November, a decrescendo to a bone-chilling absence of warmth, nothing on the surface to keep the heat close. I leave training with a wet head and five blocks later, my ears hurt. It’s 27 degrees outside and my warm blood doesn’t stand a chance against the breeze blowing across the Plateau.

I enjoy the time alone. The first days I would go through a ritual. Write down some spots, plot out a travel plan, and always draw a line back home. The ritual has given way to no plan, no destination, no route. I train in the mornings, shower, eat lunch, and then walk. I walk for miles and miles, ducking into cafes and restaurants, in the Latin Quarter, the Portuguese Square, Little Italy, Chinatown, Centre-Ville, the Port. I walk all day, crawling back home after 9. Without a watch, the day loses its architecture.

Last week my Insomnia crept up, I had nightmares and I couldn’t stay asleep. Still fighting off a mild cold (public transit + walking in crowds = bacteria and viruses). I’m not waking up to epic revelations. This is the small stuff, unnoticed omissions, phone calls I don’t return, visits I don’t make, lives I forget, people I neglect, friendships I don’t nurture. The love I don’t make known with words and deeds; St. Paul says, “Pour me out like a libation.”

How does one ascribe value to time spent alone? I remember a line from a book , The Chosen, an old Hassidic saying: Before finding company in others, you must learn to find company in yourself.

Common says something similar in a rhyme from Ghetto Heaven: Not even I can ignore being alone is hard … find heaven in yourself and God.

As much joy as I find being alone, there are times, when I see something familiar or funny, when I’m cold, when I’m hungry and want more company than a book, during the peace sharing at mass, when I feel the loneliness of this station.

I miss you all very much.

In case you've forgotten what I look like.