I am a recluse. Not all the time, but the potential is always lying in wait, hoping for the moment when I’ll be on vacation and then it leaps forth and swallows me whole.
I don’t know why it is. But it has been proven repeatedly for many years.
When I’m not dragged out into the light of day by my job, I slip into my home and savour the quiet and the solitude. I stop answering emails, I barely answer the phone. I’m short and abrupt and usually manage to keep to any pre-arranged event attendance but make new plans? Yeah, no.
I consider it reclusion, not seclusion, because I still go out into the world, there are usually a few things that must be done, but I have difficulty enjoying it.
I have become hermit.
And I like it. It feels so good. Except for the guilt. I feel that I should be out, doing, being, talking, sharing. But to be at home, or alone in the woods, just being or reading or writing or doing. It’s bliss.
Are you a recluse? Or a seclusion lover? Or is your world best when it is filled with other people?