While in the midst of reading Jon Krakauer's classic "Into Thin Air" (about an ill-fated trip to Mount Everest), I'm reminded of how much I appreciate being at home. It was good going to Florida for my honeymoon more than a decade ago, seeing Las Vegas for the first time in 2005, and meeting my favorite author in Oregon at the end of 2008, but I'm at my most peaceful and relaxed when lying in the bedroom peeling my banana (obligatory acknowledgement of my recent, some would say outrageous, last post).
It must be a grand thing, to be able to truly feel at home out in the world. Me, I'd rather have my favorite foods and the shitter just a few feet away. For entertainment, there's the telly, my home computer, and the latest books I've borrowed from the library. For love, there's the dog and cat. For other things, there's the lady of the house.
Too much time at home can lead to a sort of ennui, however. I felt this a bit in January when I had some time off of work. You would think I'd enjoy being able to sleep in, not having to get up early to rush off to work, but after a time, the days start to run together and an overabundance of navel gazing is bound to occur. Also, there's the feeling that one is not really making a difference in the world, not really reaching out to others in a meaningful enough way.
Talking to people online is a joy, but after a while, one begins to wonder if there really are people at the other end, if one is not just imagining that there are sentient beings behind all those words and emoticons. The human touch is a grand thing in the scheme of life, but it is totally unutilized while online though many work to bridge this gap by cybering or in the common parlance, "Spreading the Mayo".
In sum, we all wish to get close to others and it has become my preference to go back and forth, spending some time in solitude and then a period in which I conversate with others, connecting with them, reassuring them, if necessary, that all problems are transitory before heading back to my cave.