What is solitude but the intentional keeping of one’s own Company. It is not loneliness, which is the temporary lack of comfort and solace apart from others. It is more akin to aloneness, that mysterious state of mind which allows me to feel free of obligations to others at those times when I want to, must, or have no choice but to be alone. And that is most of the time.
It seems I have spent perhaps too much time in this state. It has required me to communicate with myself much more often than with others, to have more time for the internal monologues which go on in my head as I think to myself, or write, as I am doing now. Everyone has constant internal monologues, but mine are unremitting, ceaseless, and rarely broken by physical human voices or contact.
This has allowed me to write, because a writer needs solitude to cultivate those long inner monologues which are his creative wellsprings.
I think that if I were a person who needed to be around people all the time, as so many people inexplicably do, I would feel like half a person: one half joined to this dependence on others, the other half struggling, even if unconsciously, to be free of those tethers.
In living alone, I have every opportunity to cultivate my own solitude, to inhabit whatever worlds I choose because no one is present to enter those worlds unexpectedly or obtrusively, except in my dreams.
But in certain respects, I live apart from others only in the physical sense. My thoughts are often of other people, such as my work friends when I was working, or family and loved ones, online friends, or close friends I have known much of my life who separated from me “across the miles.”
I was extroverted to a very noticeable degree when I worked and held various jobs in several distinct careers. But now in retirement, I find myself alone amidst all the familiar objects of my life at home, mostly my photographs and my books, my papers, memorabilia, and too many knick-knacks and little treasures I have collected over the years and can’t part with. I am at most at ease surrounded by all this, although some would call it clutter, or worse. It is my sanctuary.
Do I get lonely? Yes. I used devolve into negative states of mind quite a lot more when I was younger. Now I have become accepting enough of myself to know that I can be content with who I am. It is as natural for me to be alone as it is for married couples or partners to always have each other close by for support and companionship. At around a certain age, the single person realizes deep down that he or she will always be alone. I don’t know when that realization arrived for me, but long ago I reached an understanding that some things are not going to change, and don’t have to, either. What else can I be, in other words? What we want think we want is very often not what we need to be content, or at the very least, self-accepting.
Later:
It is now nearly sunset at the beach, where I sit alone looking out over the ocean, watching the incoming waves as night approaches. I am looking up every few seconds at a full moon, a glowing yellow orb that is keeping me company as I contemplate its beauty. I can see how it has stirred the souls and imaginations of artists, poets and writers throughout the ages.
The ceaseless sounds of the waves, and a steady wind from the southeast, make me wish I could remain here well into the night. I don’t feel hungry. I don’t feel any compelling need to be anywhere else right now. Only the onset of night will cause me to pick up my things and leave.
Right now I am just about the only person on the beach. I see someone in the distance walking a dog. Moonlight is reflecting on the water now. The moon itself is bright yellow. Its reflections are orange and fiery, but they are like smoldering coals, not flames, flickering across the surface of the ocean.
Two surfers have just come out of the water a short distance away, startling me slightly, sort of like Proteuses coming up out of the sea. They are walking away down the beach and have disappeared into the night, which is drawing near quickly.
I am alone again. The solitude of the beach envelops me. I am in some kind of timeless place. The wind and waves are steady. It is very peaceful. One would hardly imagine that far out in that ocean to the south, a tropical storm is churning the seas in its fury and advancing in this general direction. I will not think of it anymore, for now.
The moon is so bright that it has become my lamp and will light the way back across the dunes. It’s not time to go yet, but just about.
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