Sunday, February 24, 2008

Sorrento Moon

During the mayhem of everyday life, there are many times when I wish I was the only person on earth. For example, even though I'm generally pretty zen, I regularly let loose a fusillade of vehement imprecations when I weave my car through the madness of inner city traffic. In fact, I abhor the chaos of peak hour so much that I absolutely refuse to sit through it, unless it's a matter of life and death. And when family or other tensions arise, I would wish I could be in a far-away place, never again to be bothered by melodramatic displays over inconsequential issues. Well, I had a short and, I suppose, a very insubstantial taste of transporting myself away from human connection but it was definitely enough for me to determine, at least for me, the feasibility of living in complete isolation.

This weekend, I made an impromptu visit to the small town of Sorrento in Victoria's south-east. A friend of mine has sequestered herself away in a beach-house in Sorrento to write a book away from the hubbub of city life. Having spent a few weeks isolated from society, she invited me over for a visit. Shameful as it is to admit this, I've lived in Melbourne all my life and have never set foot outside the bounds of its suburban limits. So naturally I jumped at the chance to spend my weekend in a house by the sea in the quaint little town. I quickly packed away a few weekend necessities, hopped into my car and began my journey on unfamiliar roads.

It takes about 2.5 hours to make it to Sorrento by car and when I left the house, it was about 8:30pm. By the time I reached the country freeway, the roads were deserted and I was submerged in a thick darkness that dwarfed the small patches lit up by the headlights. Here, in my car, driving along a dimly lit road, flanked by wild bushland that my vision couldn't penetrate beyond the hedges immediately beside me, my imagination transported me into a world where I was the only living soul left on these bare plains. There was no civilisation - only me and the road. Then I entered a state of panic.

As I was driving down that road, I gradually increased the volume of my cd player. I shot my eyes around rapidly to survey my surroundings to no avail due to the impenetrable darkness. And, should I chance upon slight illumination either in front or behind me from the headlights of other cars, I experienced a strange mixture of fear and comfort: comfort because it served as a reminder that, despite the world into which my imagination plunged me, I was not the sole survivor on the planet. But I experienced fear also because I glimpsed in those flashes of light a reminder of the untimely and gruesome ends met by travellers in strange lands à la Wolf Creek.

When I questioned the source of my panic I realised I was experiencing separation anxiety. I've always considered myself pretty independent emotionally, meaning I don't think I have any real attachment to people. That may be a mechanism that desensitises me to the fact of my sparse human contact due to my incredibly unmanageable shyness. In any case, I generally prefer to spend time alone, submerged in solitary activities such as reading and the piano.

But when the country freeway ended at the entrance of the country town blanketed in night, the sight of houses with lit-up windows pushed the balance of my strange feeling in the favour of comfort. I knew that, if something happened, there would be people who may acknowledge my plight and come to my aid. I was with people again. And I was even more comforted when my friend opened her front door and welcomed me with a hug and a warm "Hello."

So this little tryst with isolation has taught me a thing or two. There is a certain danger in being alone. Whether real or imagined, the danger is there because the safety net of being amongst one's kind is removed. I suspect that this safety net comprises of a combination of pragmatic concern, for example, in case of an emergency. But more importantly the other component is the more basic necessity of human connection. It seems that complete isolation, at least for me, is not a possible mode of life. I do have some insights as to why the latter factor of the safety net is important but that's a lesson for another time.

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