New ways of thinking about solitude! Now that my daughter and her husband have been living with us for a while, my thoughts about solitary living have shifted, and I like to think, deepened. Before last December 7th, our solitary life was a certain way--just the two of us. Some aspects we had consciously crafted, other had just evolved; we were content. Now, four months later, we still have that solitary life, although it includes less alone time throughout the house and throughout the day. And yet, it is enough. But more than that, this solitude has become precious, not taken for granted, a state of mind, more than a physical existence.
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This is posted on several of A Cottage by the Sea blog topics. It seems to speak to all of them. I'm loving Look for Me There; Grieving My Father, Finding Myself, Luke Russert's memoir about his recent solitary travels around the world, taken to come to terms with the sudden death of his beloved father, Tim Russert (anchor of NBC's Meet the Press) and to more forward with his own life. It took Luke eight years after his fathers fatal heart attack to garner the awareness that he needed time to grieve, and, the courage set out on his own and face the future. I love this book because I resonate with Luke's solitary travel. I am reading it with satisfaction that although I have embraced traveling alone, my reasons for doing so are not the same as Luke's. I started traveling alone as a pioneer of junior year abroad programs--no cell phone, and complicated telephoning possibilities. Writing letters was the way my family and I communicated, and as you might imagine, those letters, at best, passed in the air every three or so weeks. I was on my own, figuring out how to get from Paris to the place I was staying in Rome before heading to Florence. Worrying was not a part of growing up in the fifties; my parents weren't worried about the year-long adventure I was taking, nor was I. At am early age, still in my teens, I learned to figure things out. I can still do that, and without worry. As an older person, what a beautiful way to feel, a beautiful reason to keep traveling. There is something comforting about have little woodland animals around. I'd like to call them varmints but that implies troublesome, and these are not a bother unless I want to object to rabbits chewing some plants. The same could be said of the deer that occasionally stop by, although we haven't seen them lately. Currently a fox makes a 5:30AM trek across our yard (no picture yet). And, I saw him a few roads away on my 12:30 PM walk today. Then there are the squirrels who, when they can't figure out how to jump up onto our bird feeder, are satisfied with the pumpkin they found around the place. The chipmunks are way too busy to stop for anything.All these little friends bring just the right kind of life to the solitude of our back yard. I used think that those of us who admitted a longing for solitude were in a separate, special category. Clearly some need more solitude than others, but we all need it. Today's news, yesterday's news, tomorrow's news catapults us all to find time alone so we can calm down, and sit in our sweet, quiet spot where hope resides. One of my solitude spots is my Angel Room, where I write, read, and meditate. When I open my eyes I look out to a maple tree, which regardless of the season, offers tapping surfaces for woodpeckers and climbing branches for squirrels. Just the right amount hope when I sit in solitude. My niece's dog, Auggie, spent five nights with us. We love Auggie. Who wouldn't love this independent, undemanding, compliant dog who never barks? Yes, we love Auggie but we don't want a dog. Dogs need to go out at least four times a day; they need to be with you all the time. We love Auggie, but any dog, even a dog like Auggie, takes away solitude. Even when walking my usual daytime walk, I wasn't walking alone at my usual pace. I definitely wasn't alone during the first walk of the day at 5:30 AM. Nor was I alone in the Angel Room when we returned. Just saying…. When I am with a dog I am not alone. Maybe that's not true for everyone, but worth considering before you get one. This solitary traveler is ready to go again. I thought that maybe my Florence days were over, but no, I heard, “Go, follow your bliss, you can do it, you want to go.” I know this is right because, if it weren’t, I know that too. It’s the way I operate. I sit with what comes up; if it goes away, well, that’s the end of that. If it keeps speaking out, I ponder until the answer comes. If it is yes, I make the necessary plans; if it is no, I surrender and stop perseverating on it. Here’s my plan: fly to Florence March 19th, return March 30. I have rented my most favorite apartment—best location ever, with a museum and church in very direction. Right down the street is La Badia, my peaceful go-to meditation church, and across the street I can count of the best cappuccino and brioche ever. To be inside the San Marie dei Fiori alone! A dream that came true yesterday. The line outside was short (unlike the long ones in the fall), and so I joined. After showing our ‘green pass’ and going through the scanner, about thirty of us were let in together. Then, as the people in my group began to leave, but before a new group entered, there I was, alone in this enormous cathedral. It brought back one of the most vivid memories of my time here in 1959. It was here in this duomo that I was first aware of my desire for solitude. Solitude can be a challenge for ADHD type like me. I don’t/can’t sit still for long. Actually it’s only a challenge if I think I should sit still for a long time. As a kid I was sometimes told to sit still, or at least people comment on continual moving about, although they were always nice about it. Probably because I was a happy-go-lucky kid. I learned early that people are kinder to kids who smile. True for adults, too, but I think it’s harder for adults to catch onto that if they didn’t grow up acting happy. They have to work at it, that is if they are even aware of what they can get away with by smiling. As a kid, even though I was social, I loved spending time by myself. Many memories, still vivid, are of playing alone in my room, or wandering in the woods checking out my forts. I was always on the move. And so today, in my solitude, I move from post to post, from activity to activity. Solitude is not synonymous with sedentary. Much has happened since I last wrote six days ago. To keep with New Years terms, the old has gone, the new has been ushered in. We have a new president sleeping in the White House. In my immediate life, two church members have died. Both lived long lives worth celebrating and passed away peacefully at home, surrounded by family members. The comings and goings of life, the beginnings and endings, the births and deaths! Sometimes literal, other times symbolic; sometimes joyful, other times sorrowful; always nuanced for us as we pick ourselves up and move forward. I am grateful that I have solitude to work with all these changes—grateful for the physical time and for the peace that I feel when I am alone. I am feeling deeply content with my solitude these days. The pandemic has taken away the need for a calendar, and I love that. Oh, I have things to do and people to keep up with, but most of these lend themselves to solitude. And so, I’ve been thinking about how I loved those cottage days, with weekday after weekday to be filled by my whim. But a new memory has appeared, of me, age 19 riding a bike along a country road in Norway. My parents, sister, and I were staying at an inn somewhere in the countryside and my parents had agreed that I could rent a bike and take a ride by myself. Looking back, this may be my first memory as a ‘adult’ of taking off independently. For years my parents had let me bike all over town, both alone and with friends, so that wasn’t new, but biking alone in a foreign country was. I remember talking with my parents about it and then encouraging myself to actually get on the bike and take off. I recall biking on a flat road along a lake and after a half hour or so deciding I’d better turn back so no one would worry about me. I, however, was not worried or afraid, and that freedom has remained with me throughout all my solitary travel. What brought this memory forth, this memory which is now so visceral? I’ve been reading The Storm Sister, the second in a series by Lucinda Riley, about a young woman who searches for her roots in Norway. This has led me to start rereading (slowly, one chapter a day) Astrid & Veronika, by my absolute favorite author, Linda Olsson, about two women, one young, one old, each living alone in rural Sweden, who develop a friendship. Why these books? I come back full circle for this love of solitude. |
Contact me: bobbifisher.mac@mac.com
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