Reflections on Solitude
I've been thinking about what I call "the squishy side of solitude"...
As I completed reading May Sarton's book about her eightieth year, entitled Encore, I realized that her journals of a solitary existence in Maine strike a chord in me because she celebrates solitude. I picked up her volume Journal of a Solitude shortly after my husband Don’s death because I wanted to learn about how solitude works.
I now understand that, even as a young child, I treasured solitude -- which I tended, to "people" with characters from books I was reading. My existence was rarely lonely, even when I was alone; I always had so many ideas to explore, tasks to organize, and things to reflect upon.
My life has been filled with people, tasks, and with the close relationships of marriage and deeply loving friendships; while craving solitude, my life has not featured much.
Now, however, in this year of my academic sabbatical to study and write, I am wallowing in solitude -- day after day of it. As this Christmas approaches, I am experiencing the most "separate" holiday of my life: I am not rushing off to teach daily and a dear friend and I have decided to have Christmas together in Toledo instead of joining his sister's family (where we spent Thanksgiving). So I feel somewhat "on the fringe."
It is a treasure, having your own time to allocate -- for reading, writing, work at the computer, naps, whatever. Yet, surprisingly, I feel hurried and crowded, with so much to do! I guess one reason is that I am now as busy within the world of ideas as most people are in their world of tasks and errands.
I have an earnest desire to grow during this time alone -- in self-understanding, in spiritual awareness, in physical and mental well-being. I feel confident I am making progress in all of these areas, but there is so much work to do!
I realize -- as Christmas approaches and calls and letters come in from family, friends, former students -- that I am close to everyone this year in a special way because I have so much more quiet time to be close. Yet all this quiet time is "squishy" -- somewhat sad -- as I long for connections that are not totally attainable. Not just people connections, but connecting patterns among the ideas I am exploring. And it is only by going way apart that you can begin to see the patterns.
Emily says in the play Our Town: "Oh Earth, you're too wonderful for anyone to realize you! Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it - every, every minute?"
Tears filled my eyes as I finished the Sarton book. This record of her eightieth year is filled with the awareness of diminishing physical capacity and the many tasks left to be done in too-little time. I guess I am feeling this same pressure -- the deep desire to articulate my ideas in writing and the sense that I am not getting enough of this done as time and solitude slip away...