It’s stopped raining so I’m going out for a walk after all.
Rain has settled in, too much rain for a walk. So here I am, sitting in the silence, solitude and simplicity for the entire day. People ask me what I am learning from this experience and of course I ask myself that same question. Today I’m learning to slow down and watch the sea, the rain, the fog, the clouds, whatever shows up; in doing this I’m learning to appreciate something bigger than my individual life. I am learning to tap into something beyond myself, which I call, God, but you pick your own term; in doing this I hope I’m becoming a more generous person. I don’t mean to sound pompous but life offers a duality and I know that solitude can encourage me to be self-involved and generous. Sunrise and sunset, moonrise and moonset, low tide and high tide are my daily reminders.
It’s stopped raining so I’m going out for a walk after all.
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I am the darkest shadow at the bottom? Defining solitude as being alone is never the whole story, and shifting from socializing to a state of solitude doesn’t automatically happen the minute I’m alone. Today I met a high school friend for lunch (I had a popover filled with smoked salmon). For two hours we hashed over the past, present and future, and what a cottage by the sea means to each of us. Conversation was particularly rich, in part because we both knew each others mothers (and families). I loved every minutes of it. Thanks, Ann. On my way home I stopped alone to walk the beach, thinking that I could step with ease into my solitary mode. Not so. The wind was surprisingly nippy, I forgot my scarf, and the lunch conversation kept going. So I went back to the cottage and before going in and taking a nap, I went out on the little lawn between the house and the rocks and ocean. A very satisfying day. Daylight saving time is offering me a different kind of solitude as I sit here at 5:30 watching the tide come in. The sea is active but not stormy, sky clearing but there is no sailor’s delight. The sun won’t set until 6:47 and will rise at 6:55 tomorrow, which suits me just fine because I like to get up an hour before sunrise, but not too early. Of course in three weeks, on my last morning here at the cottage, the sun will be rising on the early side of 6:30. But today, during this late afternoon time, my solitude feels open and light hearted, just like the view from the deck. It feels just fine to be back at home in my cozy kitchen, roasting potatoes, steaming green beans and broiling a steak. Solitude is at its best when I can choose it and when I can choose to return to civilization. I go to my cottage by the sea to feel that special peacefulness that goes with solitude. Likewise, I come home to feel that special peacefulness that goes with companionship. A jigsaw puzzle is a good metaphor for all kinds of experiences, and so it is for my life here at the cottage. My pieces include reading, walking, eating, praying, knitting, blogging, sitting and being, napping, sleeping, to name a few. Unlike most of you, I don’t have to fit them into someone else’s schedule, nor do I feel limited by a finite amount of time, such as an hour, an afternoon. Day rolls into day, night into night; I have all the time in the world, or so it seems. That being said, I realize how easy it is, even here, for me to force myself into a rigid schedule, jamming the pieces in. Yesterday I told myself, “You don’t have to complete this puzzle, you know. You don’t have to do something that is tedious, boring and meaningless.” So here it is, my partially completed lighthouse puzzle. I loved piecing the first 1300 or so pieces, but the last 200 offer me no worthwhile challenge. There are times when I have to keep going even when I don’t want to, but matching the shades and shapes of blue and pink sky pieces for a jigsaw puzzle just isn’t one of them. The challenge is to know when to keep going and when to put something aside and pick up something new. Now I’m working on a thousand piece entitled, “The Peaceable Kingdom”. I seem to have different kinds of solitude days at the cottage. Of course there is always solitude because I’m the only one in here and I know no one is town. Some days feel more silent than others, and today the silence is noisy. The sea is stormy, and down at the beach a huge backhoe is taking over nature’s job and moving boulders about to make a new seawall. I feel more active, even though my routine is pretty much the same. This has me thinking about Sarah’s comment to my February 28th blog, “Positively peaceful”. She writes, “This is a perfect explanation. I long for this solitude and simplicity.”. Sarah is a mom, wife and job holder. She is just asking for a little time to herself when she doesn’t have to cook, carpool, talk, do laundry. It is not simple for these busy mothers to get a little of this solitude, but I believe that they have to want it enough to speak up and instigate some changes into the family routine. No easy task!! When I was growing up my mom introduced “Get your own Sunday night supper”. This was radical in those days before take-out and microwaves, but guess what? I loved it and never felt my mom was neglecting me. My recollection is that I always fixed the same meal. A huge dish of Wheaties, topped with sliced banana, heaps of dark brown sugar, and milk; my dessert was a Thomas’ English Muffin with butter in every nook and cranny. Of course my mom had to stock the shelves, but then she was out of the kitchen and I was eating whatever, whenever, and wherever I want to. I went to my room and ate in solitude. Why do I feel sad that Borders is going out of business? I only go to the one on Newbury Street and how often is that? But when I saw those signs plastered on all the windows, they might as well have read, “Books Closing”, not “Store Closing”. I’m grieving the death of books and the changes in the publishing world as I have known it. I see young people with game devices, not books, in hand--of course, I like my little IPhone. Nothing like my Nook when I’m traveling, and truth be told, I might use it more if I didn’t live right across from the library or if the Nook books were all free. I think of the books I wrote for teachers. Would they just be on line now? Here at the cottage I love my books. I have brought stacks from home and I need them all. I read them very slowly, page by page, day by day, underlining and highlighting, taking time to think about each gem. I find quotes for the blog. They are important tools for solitude and I trust that those of you creating “room of your own” have a prominent place for books. Life happening all over the beach this afternoon but enough solitude for me to ease back into cottage life after seven days away. I felt alone in all the good ways as I enjoyed from afar many boisterous dogs and their owners, three toddlers and one stuffed animal getting wet in the waves, two surfers, and one person clamming. One section of the beach was littered with clam shells filled with clams still at home waiting for the gulls, who were having a squawking field day, or should I say beach day, consuming this gourmet meal spread in front of them. The lead article of yesterday’s Boston Globe’s “Ideas” section was entitled, “The Power of Lonely”. Why not, “The Power of Solitude”? In fact the article speak more about solitude that loneliness: “In order to get something positive out of spending time alone, solitude should be a choice.” As far as I’m concerned, that is not loneliness. In fact, I doubt that anyone reading this blog is looking for loneliness. ‘A bog for those who sometimes like to be lonely’ just doesn’t resonate. Author Leon Neyfakh notes, “Solitude has long been linked with creativity, spirituality and intellectual might.” Certainly I agree with that. I don’t go to the cottage to get away as much as to tap into something inside me that needs discovering. Sure, I learn from and with others, but in the long run my creativity, however miniscule, bursts forth from a solitary place within me. I don’t know if you can notice the hundreds of Canadian Geese that live at this man-made pond in front of these condos. I didn’t dare get too close to take the picture, although I’m sure these geese would have let me join their community, which has been growing exponentially over the years. The more the merrier. They seem to have no interest in solitude, and forget about silence—just isn’t in their vocabulary. When I think of living in one of those condos, I shutter at the lack of solitude and silence that I’d feel. I’d be a captive in my own home, not daring to step into the backyard. No silence, no solitude, and cleaning up after them is no simple task. |
Contact me: bobbifisher.mac@mac.com
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