Solitude

My husband has been on a bi-coastal hejira for nearly two weeks. This is the first time I’ve been alone in my home since his last trip two years ago. He returns immanently, putting to an end this extended time of solitude for me.

I tend to fear such solitude when I know it is coming, because I’ve always loathed being by myself at night. A childhood filled with strange relentless abuse by my mother and the early death of my only protector, my father, left me with free floating night terrors that are only mitigated by the presence of someone else. This presence does not need to be actually in my bed. Somewhere in the house is sufficient. I understand it is an illusion that I am protected by the presence of another, but it is an illusion I do not care to challenge.

This time, except for the nights, I was actually looking forward to the solitude, an opportunity to clear my mind and cater only to my own needs and thoughts. I have a job that demands my catering to dozens of people daily, and a dear sweet husband to whom I always seem to wind up catering, whether he needs it or not. His recent retirement and subsequent constant presence at home has wiped away the little islands of solitude I am used to experiencing in my home: twenty minutes early in the morning before he would go to work, an hour when I return home before he would do the same, an hour on Sunday mornings when I tend to arise before him. After a few months of this, I was surprised at how ill tempered, intolerant, and nasty I became, having to be “on” all the time, having to think about someone else all the time, having to plan out everything with another all the time, even the littlest events, a process that is time consuming and takes me off the track of my inner process.

I have a busy little inner world, and enjoy residing in it most of the time. I have multiple interests, which I’ve learned to intertwine in a constant balancing act so that I utilize the time I’ve been given optimally. I am, as my son says, on a mission, a mission to complete as much of the work I was put on this earth to do as possible, and a mission to enjoy the blessings of my life, which at 60 years old, I am pleased to have. So many of the dear beloveds long gone, from their own fates or foolishnesses, so many others beginning to drop away from ailments of the body or the mind or the soul. Time ticks away at me. I do not want to waste any.

Do not get me wrong. My husband is among my highest priorities. Thirty one years of happy marriage. To paraphrase the Beach Boys, God only knows what I’d be without him. I hope for another several decades with him.

But there has to be some part of me that is not me in a marriage or me at the job or me as a parent or me as a grandparent, the me’s that I am identified as by most who know me. As I wrote recently in the margins of a notebook:
Not just the worker
Not just the wife
What and where
Is the rest of my life?

And so I put my husband on the plane and set out to investigate who I am outside of those well established roles.

The first thing I discovered was how tired I really am. Not sleep deprived tired, because this is not an issue for me. But bone level, molecular level tired. Tired from trying to be all things to all people, many of whom get downright irate if I do not fulfill their needs immediately and in the way they have envisioned. Tired from attempting to process all the losses of the past decades, trying to readjust my psyche to being able to survive at all without this or the other beloved around whom I had structured segments of my life. Tired from worrying about those who remain, trying to influence them or foresee for them so that they do not befall the same fate, thus adding to my burden of endless grief. Tired of driving myself all day every day, to overcome the myriad of chronic physical and mental health problems I live with and sally forth into the fray, trying to keep all the loose ends from unraveling. Tired of remembering that those who fail me by not fulfilling their promises to me, and thus stealing more of my time and strength and leaving me feeling used and misunderstood, must be forgiven. Tired of fighting my mountain of obligations and my own stubborn internal resistance to be able to find the time, energy, and passion to pursue my own artistic and spiritual interests and needs.

Just plain tired.

I spent great chunks of my alone time just languishing. Sitting in the comfy chair in the living room catching up on my soaps and reruns of The West Wing. Sitting in the screen tent in the yard in the comfy lounge chair, resting on my softest blanket and pillow, listening to Celtic and New Age music as I stared at the sky and trees, watching the gentle breezes move the leaves in their little dances and whispered songs. Lying in my bed for naps, cuddling the giant long pillow, feeling my skin against the smooth flannel sheets and my mind drift along to the sounds of the sunshine caressing my face. Walking through Alaskaland or the Fair, observing the small turns in the weather and the endless mini-dramas of my fellow humans walking around me. Taking short breaks from my job in the library thumbing through old copies of Aperture, soaking in the images and their stories. Driving into town, gentle music on the radio, watching the band of heavenly impressionists paint the late summer landscape with sunlight and pastels.

To my surprise, I have slept very well by myself in the house. At the beginning I did some shamanic work on the house, calling in the spirits and rattling protection into every room. I have trusted the small clear voice of the Divine in my head that told me no harm would befall me in my home during this time. What used to be hours of severe terrors became mild nervousness for a few minutes, then good, solid sleep.

I have treasured this gift of time alone. Now, in the next several days, everything jacks up. My husband returns to town. My new boss arrives from his own hejira. My front office partner returns to her desk, the new Teaching Assistants arrive for their training, all the faculty and the admins from the other departments come back on contract, and the engines will rev faster and faster. This little island of peace and rejuvenation will come to an end.

My goal is to maintain the inner peace I have been developing. I feel re-centered, I can breathe better, I have patched some of my breached boundaries. For everything, there is a season. This season of my solitude is passing, and new season is cuspy and tangible.

I will walk into the new season, with an improved centeredness and calmness and with some salved nerve endings. I will embrace all that will come, reach for the sweet song within it all, allow that song deep into my soul, and walk through the miracle of each day.