This week I have had a couple of days of what I am calling “home solitude.” Because I don’t have many obligations, I can choose what to do with my time, particularly counting on large chunks when I don’t have to relate face to face with anyone. Without warning I don’t have to adjust to someone talking to me, asking me questions, wanting me to do something. Oh, of course I chat with my husband, answer the phone, see someone I know at the library or on my walk, but they don’t break my sense of solitude. I expect and cherish these interludes, which actually seem to be part of the solitude. I still know the time is mine.
At the cottage by the sea my solitude is different. There I don’t know a soul, and there is no one around for smiles or a few congenial words. There I cherish that there are no wonderful interludes. Location and the degree of control on my time may be a little different, but what about goes on in my mind may be more or less the same. I’ll write about that next time.