I AM A ROCK. I AM AN ISLAND.

Long periods of isolation do weird things to people. And so does Winter. Add those together, and if you're like me, already leaning-in pretty hard on the weird-side, well lets just say, Tom Hanks talking to a volleyball in Castaway has got nothing on me up here in Vermont. It takes less time than you think to start having in depth conversations with your dogs. We chat about everything - the weather, politics, my thoughts on the new season of Queer Eye. While these conversations seem to be one sided, I like to think that both Linus and Winnie have many thoughts to share and would gladly do so, if they had a grasp on the human language. Not only does isolation make you weird, It's also really unnerving to see how easy it is to somehow exist as an island unto oneself. To not have more than transactional conversations with human beings for almost 9 months and somehow still be standing. I would NOT recommend that, by the way. At all.

As I've started to emerge from this, my first New England Winter, I've found myself thinking a lot about my own personal heartiness. And what I've found is that there are varying different kinds of hearty. There's being physically able to handle the seemingly never ending cold and snow and then there's mental heartiness. Not to toot my own horn, but I really did start off strong. Maybe too strong, if I'm being honest. Instead of easing myself into Narnia via, like, a slow moving sled, I basically catapulted my Wardrobe, Evil Knievel style, into the heart of the White Witches lair and screamed into the snowy nothing, "COME AND GET ME, MOTHERFUCKER"! I relished the feeling of catching snowflakes on my eyelashes. I made hot chocolate and learned how to embrace being cozy. I drank whiskey and listened to hand-me-down Van Morrison albums while watching the snow fall and icicles form. And much to my friends dismay, I hiked. I hiked in snow. I hiked in ice. I hiked in subzero temperatures. I felt like if I stopped hiking, if I admitted that even I, the Ice Queen of Central Vermont, had limits, then somehow it would be a chink in my armor. And the cold could creep in and freeze me solid. And the thing is, I wasn't wrong. I went to LA for a visit over New Years and when I came back, the cold found its way inside of me and it froze all of me solid. It froze my heart and my head and my creativity and all my cares. I didn't want to hike anymore. I cursed the Gods every time I shoveled. I puffed on my inhaler and slipped in an ice patch and jammed my thumb. Gone was the girl who would've laughed as she fell into a snow drift. Instead she had been replaced by a cranky woman who felt like she was trapped in a Hallmark fever-dream. I learned the limits of my physical heartiness. The mental heartiness, well that was harder to pinpoint when everything went to shit. 

See, the problem is, I've been isolated before. I've lived in a place where I didn't know a soul. I've also been in jobs that, for at least the last three years, meant I had no social life. I didn't go out on dates. I didn't go to the movies. Sure I interacted with people at work and in my neighborhood, but it was still a very solitary existence. And it's sadly pretty easy to live in that sort of groove. It takes a while before the sadness and loneliness starts to creep in and make itself at home. It's like those bamboo plants that were all the rage in the 90s - the ones they sold at the Nature Company? They had warnings about how insidious the seemingly cute mini Bamboo trees were and to be very aware if you transplanted it to a garden or yard, you'd soon be living in a Panda's paradise. Yeah, the solitude is like those bamboo plants. One day you're living your life like a fucking Island in the Stream - content to hermit. Content to go about your routine unhindered. You're just doing you, ya know? And the next thing you know, you're fucking living in a goddamn Bamboo prision! You didn't notice until it was too late and now you're trapped. Yeah. Thats been my Winter. The LA trip, which seemed like a good idea, and it was good in the sense it was so nice to see my friends, actually awoke something inside of me that I didn't know I needed: Human interaction. I realize most people know, pretty fucking early, that human interaction is an important part of life. Like, its I guess...obvious? But not me. No sir. I thought that I could uproot myself and take a mental breather and that somehow, either I wouldn't notice that I was alone, or that it wouldn't matter? I guess I assumed that because, ya know, this isn't my first rodeo. And that was a stupid, STUPID assumption. When I moved to Atlanta, not only did I move on very short notice, I also knew ZERO people there. None. And because of the nature of my role, I also didn't end up making any friends at work until the very, very tail end of my time there. And even that was, as it turns out, a pity friendship. I guess word of my long drives and rambles to goat farms all over the Deep South got around. So that was almost two solid years where the only social interactions I had were w/ the folks who owned random petting zoos all over the greater Atlanta area. And the thing is, I think I have selective memory. Because its like I spaced on what I was like after going back to LA. Because when I went back after Atlanta, I was mentally FUCKED UP. I was like NELL. I had no idea how to interact with humans. To say that the isolation did not sit well with me and I was very, very depressed would be an understatement. And then a bit later I moved again, on very short notice, to NYC! And while I knew many people in NY, it ain't like I got to see them! No way, baby. My jobs in the city didn't leave any time to do anything more than stress drink while connecting conference calls and screaming into the void nightly. It was awful. So when all is said and done, its not that I've spent the last 9 months alone, I've really spent the better part of 5 years alone. And that my friends, FUCKS. YOUR. SHIT. UP. Not being able to engage in normal human behavior (i.e.  non-rage filled brunches/hanging out/getting laid/maybe even hiking with ANOTHER LIVING ORGANISM) is awful. And I will fully admit that I allowed myself to move here, knowing full well that there was the potential for another Atlanta, and thought somehow that this time would be different. Because I'm nothing if not an optimist! And because I came from such a stressful and bad few years in NY, I really felt this would be the only way to have a mental and physical palate cleanser from that Hell.  And it has been to a degree. I needed a time out. I needed to regroup. I needed to quiet my mind and lean the hard lessons. But the reality is, living life like Simon and Garfunkel song isn't good for you. It makes you hard. It makes you cranky. It makes you sad. There's a reason why hermits are portrayed as grizzled and crotchety. They've been alone with their thoughts for too long. Imagine you had to stare at yourself in the mirror for 24 hours straight. By the end of that you'd feel crazy, you'd be in a terrible mood, and you'd hate yourself. Thats what being alone for too long does to you. It's too much introspection. Its a magnifying glass on all of your worst traits. And there's no one there to give you a pep talk. To say, "yeah, BUT what about ....". Nope. You just have to keep looking in that mirror. And that by itself is hard enough, but add to that a seemingly never-ending Winter, and CONGRATULATIONS!!! You just learned that you're a hot mess and any semblance of mental heartiness was all a ruse!!! The hikes and the photography and the drawing - all of that helped distract you - but the reality was, you weren't doing well to begin with and the pile and piles of snow just helped you to realize that. Was it the hotel that made Jack Torrance go crazy? Nah. I mean, I'm sure the ghost bartender, elevators full of blood and rotting tub vagina didn't HELP,  but he was awful before. All that hotel did was give him a place to go nuts. Vermont is my Outlook Hotel. But, lest you think I'm about to become an axe murderer, I'm fine. Besides, I fucked my rotator cuff up boxing, so its not like I could even swing an axe. But whatever. What I'm saying is, Spring is coming. And just when you're used to looking out into a sea of white, one day you notice a patch of brown grass peeking through. And slowly but surely, everything begins to melt. And while you feel at one with the drab brown. The barren trees. Green sprouts up despite it all. Just when the animals needed it the most. And I'm seeing some sprouting in my own life too.

I'm not exaggerating when I say this past month has been a Jack Torrance typing nonsense and on the verge of a mental break kinda situation. I've been grumpy and downtrodden and over it all. I literally didn't think I could take another form rejection letter for job prospects in LA. Or see another photo of my friends hanging out without me. Or another inch of snow. Just when I had fucking HAD IT with life, I did something wild. I stopped fighting. I stopped wishing to be someplace else. Stopped making myself sick wondering if I'd be dating that guy if I was in the same city. Stopped cursing the sky every time a flake of snow fell. Stopped looking in the mirror and wishing a different face was looking back. I just stopped. I let myself just be. There's a weird sense of relief and comfort when you stop trying to fight everything. I've submitted. Winter won. And that's ok because its the truth. And in submitting, I've given into my reality. And that reality is that I live in small town Vermont. And I have stories that need to be written. And experiences to have while I'm here, for how ever long that will be. And in that spirit, when the only other option was to throw myself into the Winooski river and pray that the eels devoured me quickly, I decided to randomly email my resume over to a local business. And wouldn't you know it, I started to thaw out. I'm consulting for a small local business and getting to work with feisty, independent, creative women and I'm really enjoying the whole process. I'm enjoying having a schedule. Having a purpose. I'm enjoying talking to someone other than my dogs. And, maybe the Universe is telling me to fucking take a moment to process everything. To actually live in the moment and not wait until everything is perfect. To come out of hibernation and look around a bit before moving onto the next thing. Or maybe the Universe is just saying to update my resume. I don't know - but before I know it, the grass will be green and the daffodils blooming and at some point, who knows when, I'll be back in LA and missing any kind of weather. Until then, I'll admit my defeat against New England and will try and enjoy the thaw and the coming Spring.