For some reason, I’m thinking about solitude. Maybe because I crave it right now. There are times when life becomes overwhelming, and I need to process the “stuff” that’s on my mind. Right now, it’s grief for three deaths which have affected me in the last month, and the solitude of others left behind when there are empty places at the table and even worse, empty places in the heart of relationships. Then there are vicarious struggles of my children weighing heavily on my heart right now–big ones: beginning of the school year, schedules, car troubles, a house deal that’s just not going right, a new baby on the way, etc. etc. etc. Then there are rumors of war, and the horrifying thought that yet another mother or lover or child will be visited by the “We regret to inform you, your son, husband, father was lost (maimed, injured) defending our country”, bearers of the unfathomable messages of senseless violence. Sometimes I just need to be alone.
My only solitary time to write is between dawn and around 7:00 a.m. Interrupted only by my kitties clamoring for occasional attention, I am free to compose, edit, plan, and write freely. I’ve always dreamed of a studio near a lake, but that would be too presumptive, or maybe a treehouse. Hmmm.
I was reading Gift from the Sea by Anne Morrow Lindbergh this morning. It’s one of my very favorite books. In it she says: “If women were convinced that a day off or an hour of solitude was a reasonable ambition, they would find a way of attaining it. As it is, they feel so unjustified in their demand that they rarely make the attempt…If one sets aside time for a business appointment, a trip to the hairdresser, a social engagement or a shopping expedition, that time is accepted as inviolable. But if one says, I cannot come because that is my hour to be alone, one is considered rude, egotistical or strange. What a commentary on our civilization, when being alone is considered suspect, when one has to apologize for it, make excuses, hide the fact that one practices it–like a secret vice.”
Of course, if Jesus needed solitude, and the Scriptures clearly show that to be true, then surely I do. The times spent in prayer and meditation help all those other concerns in paragraph #1 pale in comparison to the joy and enrichment of solitary worship. They allow me the blessings to observe the Godincidences which balance out the trials, troubles, and angst of living in this world and not the peace of eternity.
Don’t get me wrong. I live in a consciousness of one day perhaps having to live alone. Permanent solitude. I don’t want to even consider life without my husband who brings me the blessing of companionship and the familiarity that comes with sharing his life for some 45 years. And I’m blessed to live near my children who drop in announced or unannounced. I welcome them with open arms, regardless of what else I had planned for that time. I’ll always set another place at the table or deliver a meal to others. I love to help others. I love to volunteer. I usually answer, “Sure,” in a cheery voice when yet another request for help arrives. It’s just my nature, I guess. I love giving back to others. It’s my joy; it’s my passion.
But sometimes, I’d like to be alone to read a great book, to play the piano with abandonment, even to take a nap. Maybe it’s because I’ve never had time to think about the importance of this renewal time. Lindbergh writes: “Every paid worker, no matter where in the economic scale, expects a day off a week and a vacation a year. By and large, mothers and housewives are the only workers who do not have regular time off. They are the great vacationless class. They rarely even complain of their lack, apparently not considering occasional time to themselves as a justifiable need.” Add to that working mothers. Imagine the plight of the single mother. Now that “retirement” is here, is the need any less great? I find myself filling hours just the same, almost as if I’m afraid of solitude.
Is solitude selfish? Perhaps. At any rate, I was thinking about this today, so I thought I’d share my thoughts.
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