solitude

There is likely merit in all the handwringing about how we have become anti-social post social media, post COVID, post you-name-it technology. And I’m sure that all the health studies that indicate benefits from being with others and harm of being alone are correct in their findings. I’m equally convinced time alone is necessary to the point of being vital to our survival. I think time in isolation is a wise teacher. We learn from the quiet. We may not like what we hear but there is value there in the quiet recesses of whatever constitutes our mind. Solitude does not necessarily make us anti-social. We’re still connected to our loved ones, our friends, and our acquaintances. They will be there, waiting. But if you do go out alone and find sequestration, be prepared to accept that what you experience there is only for you. And there is a cost to pay if you experience something unique. No validation. You will never be able to share that experience with another to the level you experienced it.  

My college always took spring break way too early in the year, weeks before other universities. One year I decided to drive away from cold Nashville all the way down to the panhandle of Florida where I thought it might actually feel like spring. I found a camping spot in a state park called St. Andrew. The first night I had the entire park to myself. It was perfect. So, I set up the cement picnic table for my dinner of Vienna Sausages and Hi-C fruit punch. I opened the can of sausages and poured some punch in a clear plastic cup and about that time I noticed a raccoon had jumped up on the table to join me. I was not accustomed to this kind of close encounter with a raccoon or any wild animal, so I starred at it for a time to be sure I was seeing what I was seeing. The raccoon felt comfortable enough though, so comfortable it began to wash its hands in my Hi-C in preparation for its presumed meal. I obliged and we sat there together having our dinner one sausage at a time. At one point the raccoon scampered away and I congratulated myself for having this magical moment with one of the forest creatures. (This was before I learned the terrible consequences of feeding wild animals.) As I began to pack away the trash from the meal, I noticed movement at my feet. My dinner guest had brought friends, lots of them. (One of those consequences!) I don’t remember the exact number of raccoons and skunks were now at my feet vying for my attention by patting me on the leg, climbing into my car, but I do remember being distracted when something much larger joined the party. I remember carefully watching a blind raccoon bump into a surprisingly large skunk at my feet when something above my head pulled my attention away from trying to remember what kind of bath removes skunk odor. As I looked up I saw an enormous buck and doe. They were examining me as if trying to decide whether I would be allowed to stay in their kingdom. I reached up to touch the nose of the buck, but he lifted his head disapprovingly. Gradually, all the critters disembarked, and I climbed into my car alone to sleep, realizing that no one would believe me back at the college. But I tried. I’ve mentioned this to many people over the years and I can tell, no one can believe it to the extent I experienced it. It leaves me feeling unvalidated when I mention it. Even now as I write it, I feel the memory is injured in some way. This was a moment for me alone. I should have been satisfied with that and kept it to myself. Gifts that occur in isolation are best treasured in secret.