Some yearn for solitude and some don’t. I’m one who does.
For years I planned on being like a woman I knew. She was a hermit, out in the woods, that lived with her animals and her books. And her words; she wrote children’s stories. Her contact with the world was me, when I came once a week with her groceries.
Except for the ‘hermit’ part, I reached that goal. Out in the woods with books and animals and writing. I didn’t think a man would sneak up on me. Luckily we prefer each other’s company over crowds.
Wow, we look young.
Then there’s the solitude writers need. Not just for writing, but also for moving through the story world. Of course, that quiet time needs to be balanced with being out in the world because how else will you create believable characters? Yet, even among people, there’s a sense of the solitary, of being the observer rather than the participant. Though, don’t get me wrong. I can talk to anyone, about anything, anywhere.
An inner solitude also exists. Sometimes it’s a place of refuge. Strength. Sadness. Melancholy. Recharging. Withdrawing.
I visited that inner solitude going through radiation treatments the first time. It was a place where I could encapsulate fears I didn’t put in words. Didn’t want to share. Some think of that inner place as a room with a door that can be shut when they leave. For me it’s a sanctuary. A clearing in the forest. I could go there and be allowed to grieve without having to worry friends and family. Oddly, I always left that place feeling as comforted as after a crying jag against the husband. I don’t cry often, but I did in those days.
Clearing with a granite erratic
Physical solitude is something I value. And it seems to be something many people don’t understand. Sometimes you can’t avoid hurting friends when they want to get together and all you want is quiet time with your solitary partner, in order to recover from all the chaos. It’s the need for quiet space in order to breathe.
I have memories of the first summer we moved to the mountains. I lived alone in the tiny cabin, a couple miles from a tiny town, and have posted those stories before. Those months were when I realized the absolute soul-filling need for quiet, for trees, for water, for granite.
Of course that’s also the time I learned about fears that walk with solitude. It’s so black out there at night. When the sun sets behind the ridge and your kerosene lantern is just a tiny point of light, you realize you’re a solitary interloper.
But the value of solitude outweighs those faint fears, every time.
Do you find peace in solitude, or peace out in the world? What is your inner haven like?
I do love the rain
He likes water a bit more than me – he’s in the orange cat boat
Lisa Stowe - The Story River Blog 
I always needed that time alone since I was a kid. I have always love being home alone which ever place I lived. I always thought I would be the perfect house sitter… And I always tried to find the path less walked, the tiny ditch between some trees and that single rock like you pictured. A little spot of peace and quiet, a shelter, a sanctuary. I guess the life changing steps I did several times in my life are a bit similar to that. Emigrating all by myself, finding my way… physically on the outside and mentally on the inside. Finding that peace…
Though I do seem to crave social connections ever since I lost my anchor in life, my mother… almost as if I lost my connection to mother earth, or to my inner child or something like that. I need to remind myself that I am fine by myself and that I actually do need that time by myself and for myself, loosing myself in the moment…
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Well said, Jenni.
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Being solitude is not bad if you are happy with it.
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I think I have a good balance, because I’m very social when out in the world. I do need times of solitude to write though, so I equate solitude with creativity.
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I admire this lifestyle, living “off the grid.”
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It was a lot of work but I did love it. Now though, I thoroughly enjoy flushing toilets that don’t have frosty seats. And light at the flick of a switch.The one thing that hasn’t changed is the desire to ‘put up’ for winter, to have a full woodshed and a full pantry.
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As an introvert, I completely understand the need for solitude to foster creativity. Beautiful photos!
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Thanks. This area is beautiful but you do have to like lots of rain and short, dark winter days. Which are perfect for fires, tea, books, and stories.
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You sound so much like me in this post–right down to the unexpected man and the preferring solitude but being able (and happy) to talk to anyone about anything. Beautiful writing and images!
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Thanks. Yeah, I was pretty oblivious that I was being sneaked up on, though he says he had our honeymoon figured out by the second time he saw me. Took me months and months – until one night he took my hand and I thought ‘hey…is something going on?’
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Ha! Yes! My general obliviousness never stops being a shock to me. I mean, for a smart person, sometimes I can be pretty darned dumb.
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