The Grouping

Call it delayed reaction maturity, call it a post thirty paradigm shift, but for some reason the same verse-chorus-verse of daily activities that served me well all throughout my twenties has suddenly left me wanting more out of my life. For causes unknown, I have emerged, blinking, in this new stage of my life keenly aware of the fact that very few people actually understand me at a meaningful level. As much as I would like to blame more people for not making the effort to pry apart my outward projection to get to the nougat-y center of my intrinsic being, I have to admit that I don’t make it very easy on them.

I spent most of my twenties living by myself, and when I say that I lived alone, I don’t just mean that I didn’t have roommates, I literally lived alone. I spent my spare time alone; I took up hobbies that didn’t involve other people like cartooning, and reading. I played through the entire Xbox 360 catalogue. After a while I began to take on a persona of a wild eyed and beetle browed recluse that would only reluctantly leave his dwelling for food and toilet paper. My friends would worry and stop by to see me, only to find that I had regressed into a proto human that wore animal skins, communicated in grunts and chirps and worshiped an idol he made out of dirty laundry and empties.

It only occurs to me now that I didn’t give a great many people an opportunity to get to know me. I had my small coterie of friends, mostly from high school, and I must have figured that was enough. There where six guys, and six was a good number. It was enough for say, a groomsmen party or a pickup game of basketball. One of those six guys would almost certainly help me get rid of a body and almost all of them would be down for a titty bar run on a Tuesday afternoon (fyi, not their A team). But as time continued in its unceasing march, horrible things began to happen…my friends grew up. One would get married and one would land an awesome job in another state, or one would simply lose interest in Wednesday night South Park marathons. Before I knew it I found my pool of potential murder accomplices began to shrink, and I was left on the vanguard of the emotionally stunted.

But as I have stated before, I now find that I am meeting some newer people and reconnection with some old acquaintances and suddenly the life of quiet solitude chasing synthetic entertainment seems…less. I tend to care far less about being the first to listen to a given band, or buy the latest game. I think it has a lot to do with the fact that if I was to be honest with myself I am now incredibly jealous of my friends that have connected with someone in a meaningful way. So now I am hardly ever home. Staying in my house for too long at a stretch gets me more restless that pounding redbulls in a maternity ward waiting room. I have my standing commitments; poker nights, quiz tournaments, wing night, as well as an expanding group of friends that I can call for a beer, a movie, or a workout.

Sometimes when I leave for the night I can imagine the ghost of a beetle browed, wild eyed Neanderthal looking at me pleadingly as if asking me to stay and offering a gris-gris of shaving cream leftover pizza.