John Donne wrote, “No man is an island unto himself,” supposedly when he was gravely ill and contemplating death. It must be continental drift that is making my island move farther away from all the other islands, or so I’d like to think.
If we as people are islands, I would have to say we drift to many locations throughout our lives, sometimes part of a larger chain of islands and sometimes lost in the middle of the ocean, watching for signs of rescue as though we are castaways.
I have been part of a chain of islands before, my normal location is the halfway point; not quite stranded 10,000 miles from other islands, but a comfortable distance away. Comfortable in that I don’t care to know what the other islands are doing, what fruits they bear and how clear the water is. I worry that they covet my island and want me to become part of the chain. Maybe that is why I find myself drifting away, almost longing to be lost, outside the search grids.
But I stay within the parameters, just within, because deep down, I like knowing the other islands are there, that they still want and will accept me if I need them. I enjoy lonely, and will look for it when it is not there, but being completely alone would would swallow my island whole.