Unexpected company

I think there are lots of ways to experience life, and I wish I knew how much is just perception and how much is just the hand we draw. My experience has felt solitary for the most part. I never found a tribe and doubt I’ll ever know if that’s chance or my inability to allow one. I’ve never been estranged from my family. I’ve had friends. I’ve had love. Even a few warm connections. All of which has always felt sort of miraculous to me because very little of it has felt like company inside my bubble. If I’m going to put an image to it, it’s like I’m sitting on this bench of mine and they come and stand nearby and chat to me or smile at me, find me pleasant. Keep coming back and doing just that but rarely, so rarely, sitting down to share my experience. Then you whittle that down further from the one who sits out of curiosity and asks a question or two but is more just making conversation while resting their feet than genuinely joining me. Over time, I stopped waiting for company on the bench and used it to park my thoughts, my emotions, my troubles and joys. Used it to help me compartmentalize. Loneliness shrunk from the distracting dark specter right next to me to a small, quiet little sandy haired fellow down at the end, swinging his legs with an air of contentment. We’re all good these days, and I hardly give thought to the bench unless I’m looking for something specific. I am generally happy here. Yesterday I was caught off guard. J plunked down on the bench like he could see it himself. Nothing profound… just one of those silly things that happen when you share space in life…but he did so with such openness and ease and familiarity that I felt blindsided. Everything else on the bench disappeared but his large warm frame and thoughtful eyes looking out on my view. His words were underlined by the buzzing in my ears that couldn’t tell if I was alarmed or delighted. By the time I blinked, he’d gotten up and left and everything else floated back down into place like an exhale. It was the first time I’d had such a stark illustration of the solidity of company versus the quiet contentment that I forget is anchored in loneliness. I can’t help but think that I once dreamed of a life centered around that kind of company on the bench. I don’t know who I’d have been if that dream had come true, but I suspect she’d have been painted in bolder colors and bigger brush strokes. I wonder if she’d have been quite so peaceful as my muted colors and soft edges. Maybe I was made for occasional company. Maybe I just grew into the life I had or perceived.