Reflections on Solitude

4 May

I’ve spent a lot of time in the past week or so contemplating solitude. To be completely honest, solitude is not something that I have a lot of experience with. I spent all of my youth (which makes me sound/feel much older than I actually am) living with my family. From there I went to the dorms where I first had one roommate, followed by two. Then I got married and Husband and I have lived together since. 

Even thinking beyond my actual living arrangements, I can probably count on one hand how many times I have been in the house by myself in the past year. Husband is fantastic, amazing really, at taking care of Child so that I can go out with friends, run errands, etc. He has never once told me no, it’s too much, I’m tired. But, in nearly all of these instances, I am with someone. Accompanied. Chaperoned. 

As I write this, Husband is gone at the cabin to help put in the dock, but I’m still here listening to Child talk himself to sleep in his bedroom. I find myself missing that sense of freedom and abandon. To sing my lungs out and not care if the words are inappropriate. To spend all day curled up on the couch with my writing and a stack of books. No obligations, no responsibilities. Just me. 

I’m not trying to make this sound like a whiny complaint that should be tagged with #whitepeopleproblems. I made the decisions to get married, have a child, spend time with friends, and I wouldn’t change a single one of them. All I’m simply saying is that I’ve realized just how important it is that I get that time for myself, and how much I treasure it when it does roll around.

So, as the noise from Child’s bedroom has finally subsided and this blog entry has come to a close, I have a glass of wine, an episode of Private Practice queued up, and the end of The Maze Runner to look forward to. *Cheers* 


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