At one time or another most everyone says that they long for silence, solitude and simplicity, and I believe they mean it, even the most extroverted. It feels good to get away and be silent with nothing to do.
But there is a group of us who have more than an occasionally longing for the 3Ss, who from time to time feel anxious in situations where there seems to be only noise, people and complexity. I’ve been noticing more of those circumstances lately. For example, yesterday getting my haircut. Don’t get me wrong, I love the person who has been cutting my hair for the past forty years, but there was so much chatter going on in the place.
I’m writing about this because it may have been a watershed moment for me; I was extremely conscious not only of wanting quiet but of feeling anxious about it as I sat in the chair. I didn’t want to take this social setting is stride. I couldn’t wait to take some deep breaths when I got in the car.
But then there is Paris! My thoughts and feelings pale when I consider what is going on in that city at this very moment. I am embarrassed to be writing such a self-centered blog.

All our intense family activity has subsided and I’m now living in a period of relative silence, solitude, and simplicity. How grateful am I? Very. For the next month and a half my plan is to write, read, walk, and hang out with Jim and with friends. A rather normal retirement life, I must admit. In September I’m heading back to Italy and then hopefully in November, I’ll be starting my sixth year going back and forth from the cottage to home. But for now it’s home life at its best.

     Of course, not everyone wants the amount or kinds of silence and solitude that do. What resonates with each of us is very particular, and that’s is how it should be. The challenge is to create what we want and need in our lives. My current rhythm of home, solitary travel, home, week days at the cottage, and home didn’t just happen full bloom one day. It been an on-going process, continually morphing from who I was, am, and am becoming. As a child I was happy being by myself and playing with friends. I spent my junior year of college in Italy, learning to travel alone and live away from home (few young people, no internet). When our kids were growing up I carved time for myself in the early morning before anyone was up.  

     Recently I heard of a women who longs for just a few moments by herself--her husband has dementia and follows her around all the time. Clearly she doesn’t have the freedom that I have, but who would question that she doesn’t deserve a chunk of time each day that she can call her own. And there lies the rub. Although no one would question it, can she speak up for it? And how? It is easier on everyone if our desires appear subtly over time, rather than scream out in the midst of stressing situations. Hopefully this woman doesn’t need to scream, but for her well-being she must speak up. Perhaps she can look at her family patterns and find a way that will get her some time alone. From this side of the blog, I’m sending her encouragement.

By the time I get around to writing, I notice that I’m just sitting and looking out at my world. Why not? I write sitting down, and certainly not while I’m active.

   It’s early evening. A rare day in June, a June about to turn to July. A beautiful, sunny evening, but there’s a restless about it. The wind is kicking up, leaves and branches are swaying, but that’s not it. No, it’s Mother Robin flitting about, perching on a lawn chair and then flying to the nest. We thought all the chicks had fledged yesterday morning, but with my binoculars I can see feathers moving in the nest. No head peeking out, just the faintest sign of life. And now I realize that Mother Robin is bringing food to her babe. I feel apprehensive. Where are the sisters and brothers who got on their way yesterday? There’s nothing I can do but trust the mother. This is her second brood of the season; she knows the territory well. For four weeks she has been relentless in caring for her babies. She won’t stop now.
    It isn’t not noisy around here but it isn’t silent in that peaceful way I long for. I’ll know more tomorrow.

P.S. Now we are hearing a lot of cheeping from the ones who have already fledged. As for the one still in the nest, hopefully he is happy with his own developmental rhythm. It is dusk. Soon all will be quiet.

Here I am, trying to simplify my life; but to do so takes a great deal of physical and psychic energy. I truly want to lead a life of silence, solitude and simplicity, but it isn’t easy, as we all know. So, I ask myself: what of my own doing holds me back? what can I eliminate?

     Definitely getting rid of stuff. But here’s the catch; I need to do it more simply, more efficiently. For example, I must stop perseverating about every book, paper, and piece of clothing that I want to toss or keep.

     Then there is letting go of TV and the newspaper. I keep working on that one. Easier to do when the Red Sox keep losing. Glancing at the headlines today was more than depressing. Tough stuff going on around the globe. Negative attitudes by everyone, but maybe that’s what is ‘fit to print’. Feel good stories won’t sustain a readership. 

     I have to keep believing that the silent, solitary, simple life that I long for and work toward might just bring a little balance to our noisy, crowded complex universe. It’s the best I can do.

Contemporary Celtic poets love the word belonging. There is David Whyte’s book of poems, “The House of Belonging.” John O’Donohue sprinkles belonging among his poems and writings. The word is provocative, leading me in many directions. To whom do I belong? Where? When? For how long?

     With my upcoming trip to Florence on Sunday, I seem to have latched onto thoughts of longing and belonging. But why? I love the city, so it’s easy to long to be there. But there’s something more. Specifically I long to wander through the streets and along the Arno. But there is something more. After all, there are many places where I long to be, and with ease I can long for many things.

     But what about belonging? Belonging is more limited and specific, more defined and distinct. I sense that I belong in Florence; that that city is where I get closest to my Self, to who I am. It wasn’t always that way, and maybe it will change. But for now, I belong there, at least for two weeks.  

The Olympics have started, need I tell you? Last night the family was tuned to the opening ceremony; newspaper articles are already piling up. More will keep coming, more TV coverage, more reading. Now, please don’t get me wrong, there are piles of rewarding reasons to follow the Olympics; many of my friends and family will be doing so, and in past years I’ve been sitting right beside them. However, this year I’ve chosen not to watch and not to read about them, at least not very much.

    This decision has to do with my longing to live in silence, solitude and simplicity whenever and wherever I can. I go to the cottage to do just that, so why would I ever turn on the TV and get immersed in it all? On the other hand, I am aware that whenever I step out of the cultural mainstream, I take the risk of separating myself from the life and people I know. I don’t want to do that in any hurtful way, so I try to be conscious of what I do and don’t do, say and don’t say. For the most part I keep a low profile. In fact, I  reveal more about my longing for the 3S's on this blog than I do in person.

Back to the cottage: Part 2.
       My fourth season at the cottage begins in two days. Nothing basic has changed, at least not the physical venue, my routine or my intentions. I still long for silence, solitude and simplicity and sometimes I like to be alone. It’s the deepening that has changed—a deeper longing and a deeper feeling of peace.

      I keep asking the big question: ‘Why do I want this?’     

      I keep hearing the same personal and mysterious answer: “So I can be with God and pray for people.”

      I don’t usually share these details of my personal journey. You have your own path, I have mine. I have no intention of trying to convince you to do as I do, think as I think, or believe as I believe.  I share in the hope that what I write will tweak some longing in you.

     I believe, however, that all human beings long for something beyond the self that they know, beyond words or intellectual understanding, something deeply felt and mysteriously known, call it peace, God, the Holy, Soul.

I sleep while the city remains awake. That’s the way it’s always been with me, from my earliest memories. This morning at 6:30 I lay in bed deciding that I would walk up to Piazzale Michelangelo, but when I opened the windows and shutters, all I could hear and see was rain. Ah, but I have an umbrella, so off I went on an early field trip  in a combination of rain, drizzle, or no precipitation at all.

   I took these pictures between 7:15 and 8:30. Then I stepped into my neighborhood church, Santa Trinita, for a bit and when I came out, there was sun and blue in the sky and people on the street. But, my longing for silence and solitude had been nourished.

March, not lamb-like, not lion-like, but a sign that spring is on her way and my cottage days will be ending. I have mixed feelings about this. I love these weekends at home followed by weekdays at the cottage. I love the rhythm that allows me to be in the present moment, winter day after winter day. Most people plan something to help them get through or get away. “Are you getting away this winter?” “What do you do to get through the winter,” we are asked.

   For me, going to the cottage isn’t about getting away or getting through. Rather, it’s about a place and existence I love. When I’m there, I’m more present to the NOW than when I’m home. I have my routine but I’m not stuck with it. I know I’ll read, write, pray, meditate, work on a jigsaw puzzle, watch the ocean, walk the beach, but I’m not certain when each activity will happen. One minute I’m reading, the next I’m putting on my walking shoes.

    Oh dear, here I am realizing that I have only six weeks left before my cottage by the sea routine ends. Once I can count the weeks remaining, planning sneaks in.

I’m waiting for a 2:30 dentist appointment to reattach the cap on my left top wisdom tooth—the one that came out on the very day that it’s companion, the right top one, was pulled. What a bother this all is because I want to beat the traffic to the cottage. More to the point, I want to be at the cottage. But here I sit, with another opportunity to practice patience. Of course I’m mighty aware that impatience has no place in an atmosphere of silence, solitude and simplicity. The life-long challenge is to experience the 3Ss no matter what the circumstance--all the while knowing that ‘fight or flight’ will take over if need be. Surely, waiting for a dentist appointment is not in that category, so patiently I wait.