SOLITUDE

I'm alone in the house now. I don't speak. I don't have music on. There's no sound except the ticking of the clock, the whirring of the woodstove fan, and the occasional rattling of the windows on this blustery day.

I have a numbered task list for today and I do each thing slowly, with mindfulness and enjoyment. I have just one more hour before my peace is shattered by the return of school children. My anxiety level rises as the minute hand moves around the face of the clock.

It's not that I don't like the company of my family. I do. But there is something built into me that cries for solitude. And lots of it. I've always been like this, so it must be inate, not simply the result of 30+ years of active parenting. When I was nine years old, I read a book about a hermit and told my mother, in relieved glee, that I had finally discovered what I wanted to be when I grew up: a hermit.

Sometimes I go out to the monastery in Lafayette, Oregon for a few days of focused solitude. It restores my soul as I look inward and upward. I could live like that.

Some days are gifts of peace -- like this one. I treasure my few hours of solitude and try to use them to prepare to better serve.

And now, on to the next task, which, happily for you, is the next blog post.

Peace to you.