Spamalot, a Broadway play that was an adaptation of Monty Python’s Holy Grail, is quite hilarious. It’s traveling right now, so check it out if it’s near your place of habitation.

There is a song in Spamalot called “I’m All Alone”, the lyrics are funny in the context of the play, but there is a line in the song where Author (and Patsy) sing: I’m all alone, (He’s all alone) all by myself (except for me); I cannot face tomorrow (he cannot face it). I’m all alone (Though I am here) so all alone (so very near) no one to share my sorrow… It’s a funny song, but it kept running through my mind this week. It started on Sunday.

A series of events happened and I was feeling a bit overwhelmed and picked up my phone and was about to phone a friend when I stopped myself. I looked at the potential numbers, I turned away. It was a feeling akin to being alone in a crowded room. I wasn’t certain if I would have the attention of anyone, nor was I certain what I wanted to say, or what I could say, so I went to sleep instead. I’d like to be clear, I love being alone, there are many times that I crave solitude, and fewer times that I seek company. However, I also think there is a distinct difference between being alone and being lonely and sometimes this difference is defined by circumstance.

The tumbleweed syndrome. My tumbleweed syndrome is simple, it’s something that I have experienced all my life, social roots are formed and then, for one reason or the other, I break away and flee – this happens for many different reasons, never one in particular. A few years ago I decided that I needed to have some more meaningful relationships, that I needed to stop being a tumbleweed and be rooted. I tried that; there were some successes and I started to feel the roots take hold and grow. It felt great, my tumbleweed days were over. But, this past week as I looked at my phone, as I sent one email to a few undisclosed persons, as I chose to go to sleep or to read instead of reaching out, I felt like the roots were beginning to break, like the wind was calling and the pull to flee reverberated through me. I don’t want to be a tumbleweed anymore, but there is something that I thought of, as I sat thinking about these things, on one hand the breaking and fleeing were intentionally done by the tumbleweed. But what happens when there is nothing left for the root to hold on to? Can you become an unintentional tumbleweed?