Today I was very lonely. I wanted to drink coffee to get a buzz so that I’d feel more motivated to do something other than sit and feel sorry for myself. Instead, I sat outside barefoot in the sun on a beach chair with my 20-month old at my feet, collecting twigs that had fallen from a towering tree overhead. We snapped those little twigs for a solid 20 minutes. Listening to the crackling sounds they made was very therapeutic. My hands were happy to be occupied by such a primitive movement. I envisioned myself as a tribal woman with an important mission to prepare my clan’s next meal. Thanks (or not so much) to industrialized life, I don’t even have to worry about the electronic payment of my bill from the electricity I will use to cook my dinner tonight. “Snap!” “Cluck!” my 20-month old clicks her tongue after each snap, trying to recreate the sound of the crack. This mundane and repetitive experience was almost like popping bubble wrap but not as annoying. She was excited for the sensual experience, I was releasing loneliness.
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