solitude
a poem + reflection
I know for some of us, solitude is scary or feels impossible. Some of us were never allowed to be alone. Some of us learned too early how to survive it. Some of us are just now discovering we like our own company.
Lindsay: “Your complexion looks better. You didn’t look bad before but your eyes look brighter now. I bet it’s the sun.”
Me: “And the solitude.”
A poem came to me last night — my final night of solitude before Lindsay’s family returned to their cabin — I’ve been housesitting — before we start Level 3, before I fly to Seattle for the spring/summer season.
I’ve been shaped by solitude
Raw gritty rubbing of my thoughts
And only my thoughts
Together
Interrupted by me only
When I wriggle away from what I know I must do
What I know I must feel
I write in ink for hours as the sunlight burns my shoulders
I stretch on the floor knowing dog hair will get stuck to me but pressing my face to carpet anyway
I lay on the couch and watch the same trees out the same window when perhaps a long walk through the woods would serve me better
But time alone is all the same
Like sleeping in the same bed every night
I know what to expect
Even when I poke around the corners of my mind
Endlessly curious what I’ll find
Or what will find me
I know how it’s going to go
It’s just me being with me
And we’re comfortable together
I am delicious to me
I can’t seem to get enough of this
Of me
All on my own
energy
space
Self.
The universe whispers through the forest, “This moment is just for you.”
Solitude has shaped me in ways I didn’t expect. What it has given me and what it has taken — is something I’m still learning to name.
