The Reconnect

I have waited a long time for this. Being someone prone to doubt even some of the most unshakeable certainties, I often wonder if it will arrive again. I should know better than not to have faith. It always comes -- this mysterious force that calls us back. Like a ball that has been vaulted heavenward, I too must conform to this law of gravity. It has summoned me. This is the Reconnect.

I am an individual who relishes in solitude. There is a private joy in not having to deal with anyone other than one's self. And yet, as I have been reminded continually throughout my life, there is a certain emptiness -- a sorrow -- that accompanies my solitude. And in that thought, it becomes clear: I am not alone -- nay, I cannot be alone. And at that moment, I am reconnected -- I become more than merely me. I become part of something grander. But what is this to which I reconnect? And why does it occur?

Soliloquy

Though I live the life of a recluse, I cannot deny the knell of those immortal words of John Donne: No man is an island. To be honest, I could very well deny those words -- perhaps I may even want to deny those words -- but I will not.

Being intensely private, I am perhaps more aware of my individuality than most -- a life of isolation is, after all, a hospitable environment for egocentrism. Having said that, I think everyone embraces one's own individuality to some degree. There is a certain satisfaction in being different, and quite another feeling in being unique. Individuality is inextricable from self-identity -- it is the very definition of what one is. There are few statements more powerful than that simple assertion of existence, I am.

I am. Well, good for you, so am I. But what of it? Uniqueness is a lonely state. There is a lingering feeling of incompleteness. There is an urge to connect. That an individual differentiates oneself hints of something other than the individual. It is a combination of all this that leads the individual to relate -- to integrate -- with this not-individual, which, when further differentiated, seems to be an infinitude of other things, most notably, other individuals. From one comes many.

And yet, as a monist, I must remind myself that there is exactly one thing. God, the Whole, the universe, call it what thou wilt -- names are arbitrary. Me, I call it the Island. No man is an island. But all men are parts of it.

On What This Is

Although freedom of thought may be what uniquely differentiates each individual from any other, it is freedom of expression that grants each individual integration with others. This is one particular individual's movement from his solitary isle of thoughts to wherever -- and to whomever -- the expression of those thoughts takes me.

I have always meant to write a blog. I have also always meant for my blog to focus upon my intense passion for the written word. Action and intent, however, are entirely different things. Here I am, blogging away -- but to focus on the written word -- to focus on any one thing -- that is a commitment which I will continually make -- and continually break -- ad infinitum.

There are two primary reasons for my disposition: (1) I do not always wear my glasses, and in doing so, I have had the good fortune of finding things which I may not have found were I wearing them, not the least of which is the simple truth that sometimes it is beneficial to lose focus, and (2) All things must converge -- a bold statement, but one of which I am convinced. Although there are certainly times when focusing on one thing is advantageous, one must be careful not to focus too much on any one part, lest one lose sight of the Whole.

I have always meant to draw a comic strip. I have also always meant for that comic strip to be a form of social commentary on my life. Alas, I still have not learned to draw. Undaunted by my lack of a particular artistic talent, I dreamt up a world populated by simple shapes, for although I cannot draw with any precision, I am a passable doodler. The comic strip was meant to follow the everyday life of the main character Linus -- a straight line struggling to find his own identity and a place within a not-so-straight world; envious of his cool, carefree friend Dood, a popular squiggle; and secretly in love with Circe -- the most perfect circle he had ever seen.

The name of my comic strip was always meant to be Misprink. Perhaps, one day, I shall still create a comic strip by that name. In the meantime, I thought it a pity to let such a good name continue to refer to something that has yet to exist. And so, Misprink is born -- not as it always was meant to be, but as whatever it will become.