Yesterday a friend and her two children came for lunch and a walk on the beach. We had a wonderful time and the gregarious me couldn’t have been happier. But after they left, and I stepped back into my solitary, cottage mode, it became clear to me that one of the criteria for solitude is the absence of other human beings. Oh, I know that we can sometimes grab what Anthony Storr calls “being alone in the presence of”, but another person stepping into our solitary space definitely shifts things. We start including them, if only in our minds. And then we are not alone.
Today for a while I was the only person on the beach. Later a woman appeared and began collecting things. My mind started asking itself questions: “What is she doing?” “Do I want to avoid her?” “Do I want to ask her my favorite question—‘Have you found any treasures?””
All at once I was not alone. The deeper solitude that I had experience earlier on the beach had vanished, and I was back in the social world in my role as “citizen of the beach”. It wasn’t until I entered the cottage that I got my solitude back.
Yes, I did ask the woman my treasure question. Her response: “No, I’ve just picked up some glass so the children won’t cut their feet.” Then her voice trailed of, “I guess I’m just a mother.”
Today for a while I was the only person on the beach. Later a woman appeared and began collecting things. My mind started asking itself questions: “What is she doing?” “Do I want to avoid her?” “Do I want to ask her my favorite question—‘Have you found any treasures?””
All at once I was not alone. The deeper solitude that I had experience earlier on the beach had vanished, and I was back in the social world in my role as “citizen of the beach”. It wasn’t until I entered the cottage that I got my solitude back.
Yes, I did ask the woman my treasure question. Her response: “No, I’ve just picked up some glass so the children won’t cut their feet.” Then her voice trailed of, “I guess I’m just a mother.”