Last summer my longtime roommate told me that he was planning on taking the plunge with his girlfriend and getting an apartment together. I mentally prepared myself from that point forward for my baby bird to spread his wings and fly. However, circumstances didn’t lend themselves to the move happening immediately and Dan and I continued our cohabitation, happily splitting bills, the dishes, and trash. I put the concept of losing a roommate on the backburner and lived my life to the fullest; skydiving, bull fighting, and curling to my heart’s content. A few weeks after that, the topic was breached yet again. This time it was a firm reality and the date was set. Dan would be moving out at the end of November.
A few weeks after that, while eating some of the best chicken wings the Northwestern Pennsylvania region has to offer, I mentioned how, for the first time in my life, I would be living completely independent of a roommate. I was going rogue.
In the middle of one of his chicken wings, my brother pointed out that I just turned 30.
It was odd thinking of that; three decades of life. The oddity was highlighted by a thought that popped into my head as well. By the time my dad was my age, he already had three kids.
I enjoy my freedom too much to hamstring my lifestyle with the burden of children at the moment. However, one thing I’ve learned about myself since my roommate’s departure is that I enjoy cohabitating. I’m really not too fond of living alone. Growing up with brothers, I’ve found that having someone close to me is a part of my personality. I grew up accustomed to having someone to watch TV with, play video games, or go outside and do something. And really, for as long as I can remember, I’ve always had a tight group of friends and I’ve always kept them close to me, through proximity or communication, if they happened to live at a distance.
Now I know that causation doesn’t necessarily mean correlation, but over the last few months, I’ve noticed a change in my personality. I don’t know if anyone else has because I haven’t bothered to ask, but I feel that since living on my own, I’ve become much quieter and way more introspective. This may or may not be a bad thing. I guess it’s probably good to be more self aware and evaluate one’s life in solitude for a period of time, a la Henry David Thoreau.
Hopefully I don’t contract tuberculosis and die, however, because no one will be here to help.
So on with life I will go, learning how to navigate the waters of bachelorhood in solitude.
Agere sequitur credere.