The wind picked up and the waves crashed to the shore with increasing force as I walked along the beach. Daylight was fading, and in the purple twilight I could tell a storm was brewing; it would not be long in arriving. Still, I walked on, alone in my thoughts as well as alone in fact, as I could see no one else on the beach. Even the hardy fishermen had called it a day and packed their gear, hoping for better luck tomorrow after the skies cleared.
I was in a melancholy mood, though whether the atmosphere determined my mood or was merely sympathetic I could not say. Nor was the cause of my melancholia clear. As I reflected, it seemed to me that it was that I felt I was Alien - that I am of the community but not part of the community. Others create buildings and caves and, yes, beaches. They animate and script. They produce clothing and accessories. They run clubs, DJ events, create art, produce magazines. Heck, if I'm tallying useful and marketable skills, some work as dancers, or escorts, or "escorts." Me? I wander, I observe, I write - though perhaps I write for an audience of one, my words spiraling into the Aether and continuing infinitely without encountering another soul -and I stimulate the economy by shopping. Others host social gatherings and hold the community together. I contribute mots on ISC chat.
The first raindrops fell, and cleansed my mood. Each sting of rain on my face made me feel real and alive. Ultimately, we can strive to please God, and strive to please ourselves, but to strive to please others is mere foolishness. I am what I am, and live content with that. I enjoy the rain and, almost always, the solitude. I turn for home, arranging my shawl to divert the trickle of water away from my neck, and realize I am, for no reason at all, happy.