Living Alone (Far From Lonely)

I've come to find that living on my own really suits me.

Since I started college, the first big move of my life and my first experience with independent living, I have shared rooms. For the kind of lifestyle I wanted to live, i.e., the kind where I don't make a lot of money and had time for friends and art, it is rather difficult to find living situations that don't pair you up into a shared living space. I don't mean sharing a house with my own room, I mean literally for 5 years I have shared a room with another person.

Luckily the people themselves have not been bad. In order, they were:

Chris LaRuffa, the one exception to the rule. He was my college roommate Freshman year. We were as different as a cow is from a peapod. He was a model, a fratboy, and showed little to no interest in the larger questions of life. Though my appearence changed many times that year, I will always remember the stark contrast between us when we first met: him, a pedigree face with perfectly straight teeth and a perfect smile, the kind that implied he was better than you. Me, a long-haired, beard-faced hippie kid from the north, trying to figure out where I could score some weed. I had a long-distance girlfriend who I was desperately in love with, he brought over a new floozy every weekend (often waking me up in the middle of the night). We got along fine, over cheap beers and Halo tournaments, but we never ate together, shared classes, or interests.

Next of course was Steven Ray Morris, who would prove to be the longest living-together relationship I've had outside my family. We shared a small two-bed dormitory, and the next two years a studio apartment. The first night in The Studio we sat on either side of the room (a good 10 feet or so) and marveled at how much space we had. Straymo was always moving (still is, really), and was a raucous case of creative energy. It was tiring some times, coming home to hear about every new thing he had done, but it was enjoyable and our conversations were filled with an artistic passion and philosophical bent that to this day bolsters our enduring friendship. There was a stint where Steven left for New Zealand, and I picked up Mossimo, the Pancake-Loving Italian. He was by far the chillest and most easy-going person I've ever lived with. Things were usually quiet. I would enjoy introducing him to aspects of American culture and he enjoyed eating his pasta and watching the History channel. I introduced him to pancakes and he never looked back. He must have had pancakes every breakfast after that.

Then of course was Jackson, the first friend of my late adolescence. We met in 8th grade and were best buds by the time high school started. Kyle, Jackson and I moved in together, or rather, Kyle and Jackson moved in together, found James, who moved in as well, and I came in later. Sharing a room with Jackson was at times a trying experience. The situation was also new having to live in a house of four people- four very large and independent male personalities. Jokes flew around the house like spitballs in a 4th grade classroom. Clothes, bikes, and toiletries piled up on each other like a third world country. It was a manic scene, to say the least. Meanwhile, in the backroom was Jackson and me, him working away at the computer and me doing the same, or working on art. It was a cramped place for two people (my bed was in the closet, JaX's closet was in the stairway), but we made due.

Also exacerbating in its own way was this last summer, that saw me with now permanent home in the city I was making my living in, but rather commuting from Santa Rosa to San Francisco, living off the good graces and couches and floors of my friends. It was fun to not be tied down to one place. It was also hard on my back.

It's too bad it's so hard to have your own space in California. California really is the shit. A friend of mine was paying $1250 for a studio apartment in downtown San Francisco that was barely big enough for her bed. Housing prices have been steadily rising in the U.S. for as long as anyone has cared to keep track. California is where the "international boom in housing prices has been most pronounced," according to Wikipedia. The median property price in the San Francisco Bay Area has been $650,000. This is, of course, before the economic dive bomb we have settled into, but that is really only good news for home-buyers who still have money, not apartment-renters who never had any in the first place.

This is all a very long-winded way of saying: I like having my own place. Each morning I can get up and make my own breakfast. I have the amazing, new-found capacity to sit and meditate, just thinking about myself and my day. I have a stretching and exercise routine I'm doing every morning. And if I want to just walk around the house stark naked, dammit, I can let it all hang out. I am very slowly leaving behind the frantic mentality and preoccupation with my life goals. Or rather, instead of worrying about them constantly (which I am still doing plenty of but steadily decreasing), I am seeing ways to accomplish them.

The other day, I went or a walk in the Parque Hundido, a really lovely park just a few bus stations away from me. I sat at a cafe with a beer and food, reading "The Autobiography of Malcolm X." Then I walked through the park. It's easy to forget where you are when you shut yourself into working or worrying about where the next dollar will come from. But walking through the park, I was dazzled by how truly dfferent the Mexican flora and fauna are. It made me feel like I was truly somewhere completely different and yet right at home. Plants have a way (in human-organized symmetry, anyway) to just make you feel right, no matter what they are.

As I strolled through the warm afternoon warmth and gazed at the sun through the treetops, I recalled strolling through Central Park with Alexandra. There is really nothing better than being out on the town in New York City with a beautiful woman at your side. Hundido brought back those memories of warmth, attention, affectionate laughter, and companionship. Only this time my companionship was directed at the stunning world around me.

Having the ability to really grab my life by the balls and direct it at my whim is probably what really lures me to living alone. The house is so spacious, but even then it allows me to get out of it, so long as I convince myself it is okay. Above all, it cannot be denied how good it is for us all to relax, take a deep breath and just slow down.