COVID CONFESSIONS #2: the hermit who can't live alone.

There is a simple cabin sitting atop a grassy knoll. Smoke puffs from the chimney. White-tipped mountains lay quietly in the background. A grizzled but friendly man comes out from the cabin door. He is on-trend, clothed in durable high-quality sweats and a hoodie. A beard of gold flows from his chiseled face, echoing his inner confidence. A toque rests on his head. His piercing blue eyes stare out to the valley below where the man sees only trees, meadows, rocks, lakes, and the creatures of God’s good earth. He takes in a breath, smiles and nods, and walks back into the cabin.

He eats alone. He sleeps when he feels like it. He has all the time in the world to create and ponder matters of great importance. He prefers the silence of his own thoughts over the noise of a crowd. He prefers to be alone.

That man is me.

A regular ol’ Jeremiah Johnson.

A hermit in the woods.

At least, it’s a fanciful pre-COVID version of who I thought I was.

But like the mountain snow in summer, COVID has slowly melted away my self perceptions.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I miss people…

I miss the smiles of strangers and conversations with friends. I miss competition. I miss the banter of my youth group. I miss live music. I miss the laughter of a well landed joke and the bustle of a coffee shop. I miss my church. I want to walk on the beach. I want to pay for overpriced lemonade at the market. I want to see my parents. And I have caught myself dreaming of the day when we can all get back together.

The COVID truth?

Total isolation is not for me.

I am not the person I thought I was.

I am not the hermit in the woods.

I suspect I am not the only one splashing in the puddles of self realization. So I say let’s channel that existential angst and put it to work! Let’s rewrite an accurate version of ourselves! We’ve all got the time!

Here goes!

*Ahem*

There is a simple house sitting atop a small lot of brown grass. Smoke wafts out from the chimney. Inside, colourful mountains of clothes and mismatched socks are quietly strewn over the couch. A grizzled and yawning man comes out from his bedroom door. He is on-trend, clothed in stained sweats and yesterday’s hoodie. A patchy beard flows from his worn face, echoing his inner Dude. A matted toque rests on his head. His tired blue eyes squint out into his living room where the man sees only toys, dishes, crumbs, granola bar wrappers, and his children fighting. He sighs, smiles and nods, and walks into the fray.

He rarely eats alone. He sleeps when he can. He hardly has time to create and ponder matters of great importance. While he prefers the silence of his own thoughts over the noise of a crowd - he wouldn’t change his life for anything. He adores the people around him and considers himself rich.