For a fairly gregarious fellow, I am happy spending time alone.
I like camping alone. I particularly like camping alone in the off season.
I hate it when I arrive at a campground in May or October, and am one of perhaps a handful of parties occupying five of 200 sites, and the park staff put us all together cheek by jowl. I know it’s less work for the park folks, but dang it, the reason I’m camping soon after the snow melts, or starts to fly, is because I like being alone now and then.
I like rambling alone. Well, my wife is welcome on such activities because she also likes peace and quiet. She’s the kind of gal that you can sprawl out next to on the ground as the campfire crackles nearby, and the two of you gaze up through the towering trees at the stars and. . .
No other words need be said.
I like photographing alone. I’ve never been into photo tours where you have a dozen folks madly clicking away at the same scene. I like to dilly, I like to dally, and then I may just up and trot off to somewhere else if the mood strikes me.
I love going on nature and birding walks with experts, because learning is a passion, but then, I like to go back. . . alone.
I enjoy family, but prefer just a few of us at a time. I find huge reunions and parties overwhelming.
I like to canoe by myself. I know that’s not really recommended for safety reasons, but again, when I’m on the water I like to be alone.
I understand and appreciate the value of teamwork and community, and I’m pretty good at fostering both. But after the work is done, yes, thank you, I’d like to be alone.
I’m even a decent presenter and public speaker, and have no qualms about being on stage in front of a mic, or being interviewed for print, radio, or TV, but then let me curl up with a book.
Shhhhh. . . .