2008 Woodie Awards
Existing out the spectrum: the upside of solitutde
Max Lux
Issue date: 2/15/07 Section: Op/Ed
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Of all the things in life, I value the time I spend alone above all else. There's nothing quite like the sounds of solidarity--the immensity of every tiny sound in a quiet room, the feeling of thoughts, trickling, one at a time through the caverns of the mind. This is not to say that I shun human contact, and actively avoid any opportunity to visit my friends or girlfriend, but there are minutes, hours, or even days where the only company I require is that of myself. Life is entirely too loud sometimes: the hum of idling engines, the incessant click-clack of keyboards, the never-ending drone of background conversation, all indecipherable, secret and alien. Winter tends to shut us into our homes, the cold, a heavy obstacle barring our will to leave roomates and dorms with no thoughts other than staying in, stagnating their hallways with listless density: dozens of styles of music, eight different pitches of laughter and the blast of several hairdryers set to different speeds. The warmth becomes uncomfortable, then suffocating and finally unbearable. Imagine your best friend's instant message conversation with the volume set on high as you touch the single second story window in your room to gauge the temperature of the outside frigidity--judging whether it is worth the stinging ears and tearing eyes to escape the land of lukewarm linoleum and paper-thin walls.
Meditation, studying, even coherent thinking is precluded by the stifling number of moving, coughing, talking, sneezing, singing bodies around you and so you know you must escape. Your sanity and sanitation depend upon it. Trexler library in mid-afternoon or the heretofore unexplored nooks of the Shankweiler renovation offer serenity and silence, apart from the agitated gasses of fluorescent lighting. Broken chairs with stuffing spilling out, sanctuary lit only by a single low-key lamp, shade askew, walls lit red that fade to black: this being my own invented cave, surrounded by the husks of soda cans and re-read comic books. A mysterious sofa, beset with knits, set within a seemingly unreachable second floor within the CA's echo-chamber, quiet but for the footsteps of an artist, admiring his stride. Beside the Polar Bear, his fearsome visage reined only slightly by the reality of his decade-old demise: paws raised, lips unfurled into fierce and primeval dentition, the mock-ice beneath his feet cracking to pieces. There are many such undiscovered areas around campus, waiting to be occupied for whatever stay you have in mind. Near midnight mostly everywhere, as the masses move on and into their beds, it's quiet mostly anywhere, save for the creaks and groans of shrinking boards and bricks, and the whispers of unseen lovers, looking for excitement as they're locked in for the night.
Meditation, studying, even coherent thinking is precluded by the stifling number of moving, coughing, talking, sneezing, singing bodies around you and so you know you must escape. Your sanity and sanitation depend upon it. Trexler library in mid-afternoon or the heretofore unexplored nooks of the Shankweiler renovation offer serenity and silence, apart from the agitated gasses of fluorescent lighting. Broken chairs with stuffing spilling out, sanctuary lit only by a single low-key lamp, shade askew, walls lit red that fade to black: this being my own invented cave, surrounded by the husks of soda cans and re-read comic books. A mysterious sofa, beset with knits, set within a seemingly unreachable second floor within the CA's echo-chamber, quiet but for the footsteps of an artist, admiring his stride. Beside the Polar Bear, his fearsome visage reined only slightly by the reality of his decade-old demise: paws raised, lips unfurled into fierce and primeval dentition, the mock-ice beneath his feet cracking to pieces. There are many such undiscovered areas around campus, waiting to be occupied for whatever stay you have in mind. Near midnight mostly everywhere, as the masses move on and into their beds, it's quiet mostly anywhere, save for the creaks and groans of shrinking boards and bricks, and the whispers of unseen lovers, looking for excitement as they're locked in for the night.