After just a few weeks of living on my own, I haven't once felt lonely.
That was my fear, if you remember. I thought it could be miserable isolation, like the echoing rooms of a forgotten hermit who whiles away the hours in terrible solitude. I have been busy, it's true, but so far, living on my own is something of a joy unexpected.
Katie and Rory came round tonight for a practice for the wedding we're all going to in two weekends' time. We are the all-harmonising, all-acoustic wedding worship band of the moment. It was so nice to fill the flat with music; I only hope my neighbours were alright with it. If they hadn't worked out that I'm a musician, they probably have by now.
When my friends had gone, I sat there on the sofa, looking at the three empty mugs and my favourite teapot. The silence was beautiful, like a warm cosy blanket. It refused to ask me questions, it gave me space to think and it was not at all bothered by my slowness in clearing up the tea things ready for the morning. All that sounds like a pointed dig at the Intrepids by the way; just to say, it's not supposed to be. I was merely appreciating the silence of a wonderful moment and how it contrasted so beautifully with the the moments of fun and music that had preceded it. Having friends must be one of the best things in the world.
As I say, it could be too early to tell. I always knew I'd need a good balance of busyness, of friends to hang out with, and of complete rest. So far, I think I've got it about right.
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