Loss

This is nowhere near a happy post today. It's not constructive or cheery or insightful or relevant or declarative or whatever the hell I'm supposed to be doing.

This is about my best friend in the world, introversion, and Albert Camus.

I don't talk a lot about personal things here, I don't think. Not superbly personal things. I like talking funny anecdotes, or serious events, or things that I found interesting, about me or my life. This is passing into the world of personal things.

My best friend's name is Kira. She's a horrible best friend. She's inconsiderate, impulsive, self-centered, crazed, immature, and unintentionally rude. I adore her anyway, because friendship isn't a kind of thing you choose to have. Friends are people who can make you laugh when all you want to do is scream and swear and sob. Friends are people who you cannot stand to see upset. You don't pick those people. That happens of its own volition. You can tell that's true, because I'm a miserable best friend too. What a match.

We've been good friends since we were eleven, right before middle school. That's not a long time to some standards, but she's the closest, longest-lasting friendship I have. She's who came along when I made that dangerous leap from elementary school to middle school, and, by virtue of all my good elementary school friends going to different schools, was utterly alone.

In fifty-one hours, she's getting in her truck, with the U-Haul trundling along behind her, and putting 1300 miles between her and me.

The reality of it is flooding my lungs, and I'm drowning on dry land.

My head is flashing antifreeze green warning signs, alert, alert, alert, she's going, going, gone.

And I'm here, here, here all alone, lone, lone.

I have a point here. A couple of points.

Point one: Introversion has screwed me over once again.

This doesn't make me shy. Hardly, actually. I just have a difficult time really connecting with people. I don't make casual acquaintances. There are people I am neutral towards, and then there is a very small cluster of Friends, and an even smaller congregation of Close Friends. That secondary tier, my Close Friends, is down to two people who actually live near me. The Friends group is only slightly bigger.

Outwardly, I'm telling Kira we'll always be friends. Inwardly, I'm watching her seep into the outskirts of the Friends category, smiling a California smile and telling me she'll be back soon.

I don't make connections, and I'm watching this projected line between me and Kira draw this one to breaking point. It is terrifying.

And, point two: I'm facing the Absurd.

The Absurd? What? Drag us into an overly emotional post after an obnoxious absence, and you start blabbing about the Absurd?


Haha. Yes.

The Absurd is this philosophical idea that there is a conflict between the human tendency to hunt out value and meaning in life, answer those big questions like "Who am I?" and Aristotle's infamous six, and the human inability to find an answer. That is the Absurd.

Absurdism is the philosophy that embodies that concept. More importantly, it's the philosophy that discusses how people react when faced with the Absurd.

Albert Camus was one of the main architects of this. His The Stranger is, according to the man himself, "the nakedness of man faced with the Absurd."

Read The Stranger. I like the Ward translation. You'll see what I mean.

But, if you don't want to read that little volume (which I don't understand, because it was amazing), I'll explain what I mean here by "the Absurd."

I don't feel sad about Kira leaving until it's blinding me. I feel a bit morose, but I've accepted it. I can deal with it. But when I'm there, when I'm talking to her dad about their packing progress and I'm swallowing the swells in my throat, it's overwhelming. I can't even think straight. There's just Kira's leaving, Kira's leaving, Kira's leaving, please, don't leave me here, and I'm delirious.

This is, in a small way, "the nakedness of man faced with the Absurd."

Kira's leaving. She's going to come back to visit, but she won't be the same. I have to accept that, heart and soul. I have to stop losing my sanity whenever I see her.

Because it's going to happen. "There's no way out."

There are, according to Camus, three solutions when one is faced with the Absurd: suicide, a leap of faith, or recognition. And the third is the only viable option.

It's all about recognizing that this is the way it is going to be, and I cannot change it. It's not resignation, but, rather, recognition. It's not giving up on a fight, because there was never any fight to win, not when it comes to stopping Kira from going or stopping the world from changing or stopping life from happening.

You can get used to anything.

It's about "[laying] open your soul to the gentle indifference of the universe." It's about stating, yes, I can't change this, but I'm not going to let it ruin me. It's seeing the Absurd and understanding and dealing.

...well, that didn't make sense.

Anyway. I'm doing JulNoWriMo in a couple of days. It's going to be sweet.

(And I'll have you know that I wrote this whole thing wearing my friend Max's hat and a Pink Floyd blanket.

Does that ruin my Depressed, Reflective Philosopher persona?)