No Man is an Island, Dammit.

No Man is an island.

That line from a John Donne poem is what I remember most from 11th grade English, or maybe it was 12th grade. (We had the same teacher both years, so it’s hard to distinguish between the two. Also, confession, I had to Google “No Man is an Island” to be reminded of where that phrase originated…)

No Man in an island.

Is that supposed to be a comforting assertation? Is that phrase supposed to offer encouragement and a sense of security and remind you that you are a significant, integral piece of this whole-big puzzle?

Matt and I, together since our junior year of high school, used to refute that idea—claiming WE, the two of us, were an island. We didn’t need or want anyone else.

Well, except for the people who work at McDonalds, we decided back then, we did still kind of want those individuals to exist in the periphery.

The appeal of ‘being an island’ has been running through my head again lately. Even my sister, the other day, asked, “Why do people insist on making life so hard?” Aren’t we all in this thing together? Wouldn’t it be nice if we could all just be nice, and not make things shitty for other people?

More often than not, I feel like I’m trapped on an island, and everyone is clawing and scratching at each other as they attempt to make themselves a tiny bit more comfortable… or important.

Yesterday, I really wished Matt and I could retreat to somewhere far away, where distance could shield us from the impacts of other people’s decisions and pettiness.

But, alas, no man is an island, dammit.

So today, I am doing my best to ignore all the islanders around me.