Step 1: Perfect the art of squatting.
I've been effectively living out of a suitcase since May. I'm pretty good at it at this point. There was a learning curve, though. When I arrived in Oregon at my sister's place (squatting between trips), I was clueless to how much I'd sprawl, but sprawl I did. It proved to be a pain in the ass for everyone in the house, myself included.
I arrived back in Clemson and couch surfed then back-hall-surfed for a while. Again, my squat was not perfected. I sprawled, allowed myself to feel 'at home' and my very visible presence caused undue stress (though I felt so, I was not at home.)
I'm dialing it in, though. I'm learning the true nature of squatting is not in the sprawl or lack thereof. It is in the overall visibility of the squatter. Basically, the squatter must be unobtrusive to the extent that invisibility is approached.
I'm now staying up in the SC hills in a friend's family's cabin. Neither the friend nor the family are there. I cannot see the neighbors. I am nowhere close to the place that I do business. I have no visitors. My regional imprint amounts to a plume of smoke from the chimney and depressed carpet where my bag and books rest. I agree that when the family wants to use the cabin, I will not be there. I will, like a solitary animal, skulk away until the coast is clear again. I'm still not home, but I am comfortable in my homelessness.
Step 2: Neglect grooming while maintaining self respect.
Until this morning, I hadn't shaved for two weeks. The way I see it, I'm only here to do a task--finish my last two months of school. Whether I have a beard or not is irrelevant. What is relevant is whether or not said beard itches, and whether or not it distracts me from kicking my task's ass. (other taskal distractions shall not be discussed in this essay.) As a solitary hills-dweller, I'm only concerned with offending myself, and that offense is decided entirely on ambiguous criteria. I have no doubt that when I emerge from this state in December, I'll still be able to look like a glowing prince when I shave.
Step 3: Be unbothered by drinking alone.
This is not a discussion on alcoholism. This is a discussion about standing in front of a long shelf of wine, beer and liquor, and choosing the very thing I want to enjoy. It seems that, from time to time, vice or luxury can become an expression of an implied persona. This persona is the face that orders a Guiness on St Patrick's Day in a crowded bar or drinks expensive scotch whilst publicly writing in its Moleskine journal. Not that either of these things are necessarily bad... (although, for all you public writers like me: paper is paper) But, if we are aware of this, the things we consume when other people can see us consume them do begin to define us as we would like to be defined rather than how we prefer to be.
The art of drinking alone is less an effort and more of a revelation. Like grooming, drinking alone (truly alone) allows one to decide the alcoholic expression without needing to worry about social perception or pressure: one's true alcoholic preference is revealed, thus a truer persona and self may be indicated. Will I know myself better for the drink that I choose when I drink alone? Will I care? Who knows...
I'm only beginning to embrace hermithood in the South Carolina hills. It still gets lonely and uncomfortable from time to time. This said, I'm determined to be richer for the experience. The silence and answering only to myself is absolutely delicious. There is an end to this, though. And once I am at truly home, and no longer alone, I hope it will seem all the sweeter.
