The Opposite of Loneliness

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”

― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

Because I’ve always been a total bummer, I read The Bell Jar when I was a teenager (following my obsession with Girl, Interrupted by Susanna Kaysen). At the time the quote above didn’t resonate with me, not nearly as much as it does now. Most likely because I was only seventeen, and had my bright shiny future all spread out before me. Now at thirty I’m still sort of optimistic (there are so many things I want to do), but I feel like time is limited and passing by fast.

Yesterday during work V wanted to take a walk, so we went to Type Books. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, but I just happened to pick up The Opposite of Loneliness and read the its back cover. I was struck, realizing that this was a collection of stories published posthumously. Marina Keegan was a rising star: she graduated magna cum laude from Yale and was set to begin at new job at the New Yorker. Except five days after graduation she died in a car accident. She was 22. I’ve only read a few pages, but already her words are haunting and heartbreaking in their hopefulness.

Do you want to leave soon?
No, I want enough time to be in love with everything . . .
And I cry because everything is so beautiful and so short.

― Marina Keegan, from the poem “Bygones”

Today I felt especially lonely in the office. I’ve never been much for being alone. I enjoy things better with others, I like to share experiences. It’s not that I can’t be alone, I just prefer to be with others, in particular people I’m fond of.

One of the things I want to do before I’m older and I lose my chance is to live abroad. If Dave and I do move away, there will be a lot of loneliness. I’ll be moving towards a goal, but away from my loved ones. This scares me, but I know life is short and I can’t be afraid to do things. I’ll need to learn to enjoy things by myself, including moments like now: home on my own, writing this entry. At the very least, being alone is conducive for productivity.