On Being Alone

I'm reading Weight of Stone, the second volume of Laura Anne Gilman's fantasy series, The Vineart War. In it, the main character, Jerzy, finds himself alone for the first time in his life, just for a few hours. He has always been in some company or other, always working alongside somebody, sleeping in a space with others, told what to do and where to be. The experience of being completely alone unnerves him, leaving him frightened and uneasy.

Apple Valley Books or your local Independent.

This struck me as something to think about. Of course, with my love of the outdoors, there have been times when I have been away from humanity entirely for hours on end, snowshoeing, hiking, motorcycling. But in the more general sense, I grew up in a family that held me close in a fine way. I went to school. I never went more than a month without being in a relationship. I never lived alone.

Until now. For months now I have been alone at home more often than not. Evenings fixing a solitary dinner, nights with nobody to reach for, mornings with only cats to talk to. I don't listen to the radio much, and don't have a television. I don't have internet access at home. By "alone" I mean much more alone than most people think when they hear the word. I am not looking for sympathy here, don't get me wrong. My phone is always within reach, and when it rings it is either my sister, my mother, my father, a good friend, or, best of all, my Honey. I am loved, and have places to go where I will be hugged. My Honey spends all the time with me that she can. We've been moving carefully toward living together, not rushing, so as to give the kids time to adjust to me, this new guy in their life. I know there are people MUCH more alone than I am, so crushing solitude is NOT what I'm talking about.

I find myself imagining what other solitary people hear in their heads as they go through their days. As for me, I'm typically male in that whatever project I'm working on takes up 95% of my brain most of the time. I can be working on the railings for the stairs, and have nothing in my head but "32 1/4 inches, remember to turn it the right way, don't forget to bring the drill bit back up the stairs, that one has a nice twist in it, will be pretty, 32 1/4 inches, are there enough screws left in the box, probably going to have to sweep up after this..." Nothing but all that AND an awareness that my Honey will call sometime before bedtime, that I am doing this work because I want our house to be a haven for the whole family, that soon there will be teenager radio, the thump of a basketball on the porch, the smell of food cooking that I'm not stirring, the give-and-take of floor space, quiet space, bathroom time, that come with a full house.

All that is in my head too, and I don't feel alone. I feel beyond lucky, beyond blessed, to know that even though nobody is in the house with me for a few hours, even though the thrushes sing me to sleep, the chickadees wake me up, and I talk to the cats more than to anyone else, I am in somebody's heart, and that, for a long time to come, there are people I love who need me and love me too. Solitude does not mean loneliness.

Scooby and I talk a lot.

Back to Jerzy in the fantasy novel, what happens is that, right away, he finds an amazing inner strength, a magic that surprises him. In the real world it's not that simple, but I know, right up there on the short list of things that I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that truly loving someone, the right someone, the one who knows me fully and loves me anyway, means that I am never alone, that my life is far better than it ever could be without that love. The proof is in where my mind goes when nobody else is here. My thoughts don't go to the Bahamas, the upcoming football season, or whether the fish might be biting, but to the fine constellation of love that fills my heart-space. And that makes me want to write another love-song, which just may be my own magical response to being alone while I work toward our life together.