the solitude of i
By: opheliarising
Category: connections, existence, loneliness, meditation, nature, self-reflection, solitude
Irises Saint Remy, Van Gogh
I’ve been alone quite a bit, lately. Alone, and in my head, around my thoughts, with no interaction, or new perspective, or another point of view.
It actually hasn’t been terrible – particularly for a person who is, by nature, extremely sociable. I’ve been able to meditate a bit easier about where things are, and about the direction in which I want to be headed. I actually like being by myself, much of the time.
Of course, a friendly face and a shared cup of tea WOULD be nice.
Many of my friends are far, far away, and so this unhappy circumstance leaves little room for conversation that goes beyond the small talk, in my daily meetings with people – you know, the librarian, the grocery store people, the kid behind the cash register at the little store down the street.
The small talk. The parler de la pluie et du beau temps. Ah, I am weary of the small talk. The very tiny talk. The talk that makes me want to run off and join a class in Plato’s Ethics and Epistemology, or Metaphysics, or something equally as reflective and random.
And as I sit here by myself – (well, with my children, so not precisely by myself) – and think and wonder and stare out at the rain, I think about how women (and men) used to be alone often, even one hundred years ago, living on the plains, or in the countryside, or the mountains. How isolated they must have felt, with no close neighbors, and no transport available to get them places. How women, attached to family and tending the house, must have looked to the sun, the sky, with a longing so great, it might have torn them in two. How their hearts must have burst with a craving so raw, that they might have been physically affected – might have sunken to their knees, might have laid their foreheads down on the cold earth and wept for something so foreign and unreal to them, that they could not begin to express or understand it.
Solitude, Jean-Jacques Henner
But my isolation is different. Not isolation at all, actually. And not so intense, or harshly rendered. Although, at times I feel as if I could sink to the earth in rich desperation – a desperation that is impenetrable, and real.
But, what would the neighbors think?
Yes. I do have neighbors. And I wonder – does this make it worse, having feelings of loneliness when there are people around everywhere? Perhaps the very fact that there are people around makes the loneliness greater.
Would I be better off surrounded exclusively by the natural world? I’m sure that it would be conducive to deeper thought, maybe more of a wild energy reflected and winding about, a philosophy stemming from nature at its core. Which always puts that extra wind in my spiritual sail. Inspiration coming from being alone with wind, trees, sky. And so, not being alone at all, really.
Why, then, am I lonesome, now? What am I actually missing? Why can I not be satisfied with this, this quiet existence of home, children, soft chaos, and unspoken rituals? Why must I always look away, to something else?
Because, well, for one thing, I am missing the deep connective relationships; the ones where I can make a phone call weeping about a missed opportunity, or laugh about silly nothings over a last-minute lunch, or walk and talk about existentialism and death while watching the sunset. I want to be present and full of capability for that person, or persons, who might help me in return, might guide and shoulder me when I’m lost and weak, who might allow me the various imperfections that are certainly present in me, and love me wholeheartedly, just the same.
An unconditional kind of love. Is it too much?
I don’t think so. But I’m not sure. Maybe it’s too much, right now. Maybe this particular phase of life is inherently lonely and creates much self-reflection and gnashing of teeth. Maybe within the noise and clatter, the heart becomes small and quiet, a tiny pumping in a soft rhythm that longs for an inexpressible contact and connection. Maybe this is what I am now, a small pumping heart searching for that essential connection, hot to the touch. Maybe I’m a speck of a dandelion floating in space that will settle for no less than an exceptional experience. Maybe I’m ready to open like a flower in dew, petals falling away in the rain to spread down in the grass like wildfire, ready to engulf myself in this true life; this vivid life; this life that is, if I am correct in my imaginings, without boundaries, and far from mediocre.
“Maybe within the noise and clatter, the heart becomes small and quiet…”
Yes. Lovely, as always, Ophelia. This post reminds me of some of Rilke’s writings on solitude… The “Letters to a Young Poet,” in particular.
These days I, too, often find myself wondering why I’m not content. I have two beautiful children, a wonderful husband, material comfort, and a job that makes me feel worthwhile (supporting scientific work that I truly believe is important). And for all that, I still want more.
Isn’t longing just the human condition? Or the condition of most humans, at least?
I’m sorry I can’t be there with you to join in that cup of tea… The Internet is fun, but connections in real life are important, too. Have you looked around and tried to join any communities in your area? Is there a writers’ group or arts group there? A mothers’ group? I belong to a mothers’ group in my city, and I must say that joining it really helped save my sanity after my second girl was born. Even after going back to work full time, I try to keep connected with the group. In fact, I just got back from a girls’ dinner night out with some of these women!
Look around and be open (okay, I know that you already are =) )
Reading Rilke helps, too =)
Kia ora Ophelia,
Your words reach into my soul and find words I cannot express. Your words on women remind me of Steinbeck, or the music of Tom Russell singing of Irish women writing beautiful lonely letters back home gazing out upon endless dusty prairie where wolves howl at night, and your kids die from a toothache. Yet it is the women who hold the quiet strength, even dignity, when it is beyond men.
Eventhough I am a mere male I think I understand your melancholy all too well. Yet there is such great beauty there as well. Beauty, honesty and wisdom you share here that we are all better for. I will put the kettle on and have a cup of tea. Rave on, Kia kaha my kindred friend.
Aroha,
Robb
Bean-Mom, I just LOVE Rilke, I’ll have to pick up “Letters to a Young Poet” – I’m just about due for a new book. The one I’m reading will be done soon, and I don’t have any others lined up. Looks like Rilke will be next.
(My husband and I actually used a quote by Rilke from the “Letters…” at our wedding).
And, I love these:
“If your daily life seems poor, do not blame it; blame yourself, tell yourself that you are not poet enough to call forth its riches; for to the creator there is not poverty and no poor indifferent place.”
“Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless that wants help from us.”
Thank you for the ideas for connecting. I actually belong to a local arts organization, but haven’t been to many meetings because of these small children. But, now that they are both older, there’s no reason in the world why I can’t attend. And probably meet some very interesting people. Most of the members are artists, but there are some writers, as well as musicians, and even an actor or two.
I don’t know what it is about longing. It most certainly IS a part of the human condition. Intellectually, I know how to solve it. I’ve been in that place where, no matter what is occurring in my life, I have felt nothing but great joy and inner peace. I know how to get there. But sometimes the longing is great, and the mind gets bogged down in trying to “fix” things, when there is nothing to fix. And, yes, the time spent alone can sometimes be difficult. But also, it can be necessary, and even really wonderful.
I will stay open. i will read Rilke. And, hopefully, the journey of this small heart will unfold itself with much joy and contentment.
xo
Robb, that is EXACTLY the scenario I was thinking of. I can’t imagine what these women went through, in their solitude, especially being away from their homeland and sometimes not really even knowing their husbands all that well. I suppose it is in those times that a person rises above that which is obvious, and goes to another place within, of deep understanding and self-exploration. Either that, or lose oneself in the isolation and loneliness. I’d like to opt for the former, if possible.
I do not mind being alone; but it would be nice to have that incredibly rich connection (or two), that happens when people come together in a way that goes beyond the form and function of regular everyday life into something extraordinary and almost magnetic.
but, perhaps I’m asking too much. And should be grateful for this place I’m in, this place in my life where I hear small voices of children chatter and giggle in play, and the wind rattles the windows, and the smell of coffee and breakfast wafts upstairs as I sit and type and dream away. It’s a wonderful existence, really. I’m lucky, and certainly a bit of alone time has the potential to do wonders for a soul.
Aroha,
xoxo
Mary -
You KNOW (I hope) that you have friends both a phone call and a (15 minute) car ride away.
This life in suburbia with small children can be so isolating sometimes. We’ve talked about that before…please call me when you feel like this. Or perhaps I need to do a better job of reaching out to you.
See you this week?
Life – I know. Our times together are precious to me, and of course, I value our friendship well. But it seems as if there are weeks that go by where I don’t have a good, deep conversation with anyone in particular. Nobody’s fault, really. It just happens.
I guess I miss a day-do-day interaction, the kind that helps me feel alive and moving. I wish that there were more people very nearby with whom I could form lasting friendships. Pop in for lunch. Have an impromptu walk with. Run out to the market with. Meet up at the local bookstore. Tend our gardens together. A few times a week – or, more than once or twice a month. Well, and why not?
You know how isolated I feel here in this community (I’ve stopped talking about it, actually, for fear of becoming annoying!
At times, it does feel as if I am in solitude. Not always a bad thing, but there you have it.
But, you are right. I could call. and I could reach out. I guess, at times, I have only the wherewithal to reach in, and maybe that is an essential root of the problem. I don’t ask, or make the connection. I simply turn away, and inside. Maybe this is what I NEED to do (turn inside, I mean). I’m not sure.
I always love and appreciate you.
xo
i am usually much lonelier in a crowd…that absent deep connection.
we may be miles apart, but you can always write/call me…easiest way – i’m on fb. i know we mentioned in a prior post to connect through miranda.
as for the rural mama 100 years past. she was too busy scrubbing her hands raw in hand done laundry, farming, etc to think too much…and she generally had too many kids to consider loneliness out of sheer exhaustion. (i mean this funnier than i fear it came out)
Thanks, Cathy. You are too sweet and kind. I’m definitely going to get your info. from Miranda. I wish we were closer, too. I recently de-Facebooked myself, as I don’t usually have tons of computer-time to begin with, and need to be as productive as possible when I’m on. But e-mail works wonders, too!
Yes, you’re probably right. The rural mama of one hundred years ago was likely VERY exhausted – too exhausted to think about anything remotely existential. But, who knows? Even in their exhaustion, or perhaps because of it, it’s possible that the isolation got to them, too. It wouldn’t necessarily surprise me…
Love to you, friend. Can’t wait for our talk about Oya!
I think she’s showing up here with me, in ways I hadn’t imagined.
xo
me too.
Hey Mary,
I love your post (but what else is knew).
I often think of the difference of feeling loneliness vs. feeling alone. I grew up (as so many of us) in a pretty disfunctional household. I spent hours by myself in my room, in my closet (I had a pretty big closet). I didn’t invite too many friends over. I think I was pretty social at school but never, never did I have a really close friend.
I talk to myself. I don’t mind spending time with myself. And I have often felt alone. Alone and lonely for that someone in my life that I can share everything with.
In adulthood I discovered that there is nothing as satisfying as an intimate sharing with a woman. I can tell another woman stuff I don’t share with my husband (good guy, ok marriage, but let’s face it….he’s a guy, not his fault, but he’s still programmed with male hormones). Nothing beats a good girlfriend!!
Years ago….I thought that we were going to get a divorce and we went to marriage counseling. We were out at our home on Lopez Island and we got an amazing therapist! At that same time I started talking to my girlfriends out there about everything that was going on in my life. To my surprise I was hearing my story repeated back to me from woman that I had been friends with for years. We had just never really talked about stuff. I was in my early 40′s and stuck with such a feeling of loss, of all the missed years that I had not connected with my fellow sisters. All the years spent in my own head having conversations with myself trying to figure out all of lifes ebbs and flows.
I hear ya sister!
Why don’t you create an intention to connect with more women in your community. Join a book club or get more involved in your art club. Don’t deprive the world of you!!!! Believe me we need more of you out there connecting with the rest of us!!!!!!
So, what are you going to do?
Rowena – it appears to be endemic. So perhaps we are not as alone as we imagine.
Too bad we’re all so far away, physically. At least we can connect on an intellectual – and sometimes even emotional – level.
Oh my dearest friend. I am in tears. Wow, were I so lucky to write the feelings of my soul the way you do…I would be a very unique human being. I know no writer like you. I also know that it goes deeper than the words you choose and the spell you weave; this IS your soul. It’s who you ARE.
You wrote: “Why, then, am I lonesome, now? What am I actually missing? Why can I not be satisfied with this, this quiet existence of home, children, soft chaos, and unspoken rituals? Why must I always look away, to something else?”
I would say: Why does the wild wolf howl even when he already has a mate? Why does the wild white trumpeter swam hunger to do it’s mating dance even when it is not the mating season. Why does seemingly fragile life all over the planet cling to life even while humans slaughter it, why, why, why.
I believe it’s because you are truly, fully, deeply, passionately alive….you hunger. I too hunger. It is what makes you beautiful and truly alive. It is WHY I call you my Wild Sister just as I call Robb my Wild Brother. Why do we connect? I sense the wild hunger in you both. It calls out and I hear it in my heart. It is why I know you.
The wild hunger is what drives me to be in the wild and makes me hungry to return one day…for good….simply because it’s what I want. Wild hunger is what makes the trees grow and the flowers bloom and the planets turn. To be alive is to hunger deeply, passionately…yearning, thirsting, just as the wild geese feel the urge to fly south and just as Robin cries for missing the wild.
You dear dear Ophelia are ALIVE. Fully alive.
I am so changed by your passionate beauty, your hunger. You speak to the most wild and authentic part of me.
You are seen.
I love you dearly,
Robin xoxoxoxoxxoxox
You can email me any time you need a friend and are feeling lonely, I feel you are already a close friend, an anam cara. Some of my most lonely moments have been when I have been around too many people, my time spent with shallow back and forthing of niceties. I love deeper talks and being able to pour out my soul (and vice versus) into the surety of my friends love and support. You have mine.
Victoria, I sort of had the opposite experience, in that when I was younger I had very close relationships with a few different young women, all of which were very deep and emotional and real. I was connected to them very closely, but as we got older we went our separate ways, and I’ve not really found any friendships that have ever been the same (well, maybe one or two). I’m actually still in touch with them, and whenever we see one another (every few years or so), it’s as if we’ve never been apart.
I guess I’m looking for those types of relationships now, as I know how good it can be. Also, as I age, I am less willing to settle for something less.
I had a really strange experience yesterday. I was out for a run/walk, and as I passed one particular street I thought of a woman I had met about a year or so ago at the local playground, who had told me that she lived on this street – very near our street, actually, just around the corner. We talked for awhile, and then exchanged phone numbers, but never called one another. As I walked down this street, I thought about how nice she was, and how I wished I knew which house was hers.
I got home and began to help my husband with dinner. Then the doorbell rang, and I went to answer it.
It was her. She was out with her family for a walk, and her little son had picked up some dog poop, thinking it was a stone, and she was wondering if they could use our bathroom to wash it off. We chatted for a minute or two, and I told her that I had JUST been thinking about her. JUST. Like, a half an hour ago.
I was totally blown away, because the thought of her was so random. I mean, I go that route for a run all the time, and had never thought of her before. We hadn’t seen each other since that day at the playground – at least a year ago. Talk about putting out an intention. Thinking that I need to cultivate friendships close by? Writing about it? She shows up at my door?
Totally bizarre. i think I’ll give her a call.
Love to you, friend.
xo
SWEET!!!! I love it when stuff like that happens.
Robin – I love you, too.
And, you, of course, ARE very unique. And I know you “get” me. I am reading a book that talks about change, and in it the author writes about how communication these days has taken on a rather shallow and frivolous turn. That is, it appears people are more interested in the mundane, the external aspects, subject matter that is fun and trivial. There is, of course, nothing wrong at all with that. but it can be a problem when that is all there is to discuss, or all a person fills their head with. I think this world is very sick in many ways, and the fact that people are not talking about it (generally), but are more interested in the superficial, could be a sign that there is just pain, too much pain, and rather than confronting it, sometimes it is easier to focus on something not so painful. Something fun, and silly. Just to escape all the pain, the confusion, the loss of connection to the real world – which becomes increasingly muddled and fast-paced, to a point that it makes the head spin.
I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m aiming to get out from under the rock of the mundane. i’m suffocating from petty and unimportant ideals, and want to SEE, to see what is going on in the actual, real world, and to connect with it. All of it. The ugly and the sublime. I’m doing this by writing, by getting out-of-doors, by searching for people and conversations that go deep and feed my head and heart. I don’t have the answer for solving the disconnect I feel with a whole part of the existing world, but if I can change my path, perhaps it will change, in a very eensy-weensy way, this modern world that suffers and needs.
Maybe this is part of the hunger you speak of, the desire to make the world what I hold as ideal, beginning from my own point and arcing outward to another space. I AM hungry and craving, it’s the perfect word for how I feel.
You are so dear to me. Much love to you.
xoxoxoxoxo
Jo, you are so wonderful and amazing – thank you, my dear friend. I’m so lucky to have found you in this strange, lovely cyber-world.
Please know that you can e-mail me, too, if you’d like – anytime. My address is on my “about me” page.
There is nothing else like a good conversation with a loving friend. It just feeds my soul. Someone once told me that she felt if bloggers were to meet in person, we might not have as much to say to one another, because of the nature of communicating online (it being sometimes easier to express a thought in writing). I often wonder what it would be like to meet some of the people I’ve “met” through blogging, in person Would we have the same conversations? Would our words be stilted and forced? Would we slip into the small-talk trap?
I feel as if we might at first feel a little shy and awkward (and nervous)! but then, over a good dinner and a glass of wine, begin to talk the way we write to one another. Wouldn’t it be remarkable?
Maybe, maybe, someday.
xo
Mary,
As always your musings leave me speechless and in awe. you write so beautifully about anything and everything. I am forever a fan.
facebook has become a bit much for me too. I will follow your blogisms, but i will miss hearing from you. write or call if you wish, 301-606-1643
always my best to you and yours,
Skip
Skip – I miss you, too! Leaving Facebook has been good and bad. I do miss it, but since I have hardly ANY computer time as it is, I’m finding that I’m getting a lot more accomplished. But I miss “talking” to people on there.
Feel free to write me, anytime: ubuntujournal@gmail.com
And, thank you for such kindness. Let me know when/if you start a photo blog. I think it would be GREAT. Love to you!
xoxo
Your writing is beautiful!!
Thank you for sharing. I could relate to much of what you wrote here.
Leah, thank you. It seems to resonate with many people, this feeling of solitude and isolation. Maybe it’s simply a part of the human condition, and part of the natural world, in general…it’s a sort of reflective place, but also one of great restlessness and a desire for change.
Best wishes to you! (And, thank you so much for sharing your beautiful artwork with me).
Dear Ophelia
May I first compliment you on the Gustav Klimt painting. It is a lovely painting. You have an eye for beauty and it is perhaps why you are sometimes lonely.
Beauty with its fragility, its temporality, makes me feel lonely sometimes. Life is fleeting and in the end we leave this world as we entered it, alone. Yet it is the connections between us, the opportunity to meet others who share our views, that make life a treasure chest.
You, your blog, and your ideas make your readers feel less alone. So thank you Ophelia for sharing.
Gustav, thank you. I love Klimt. When I lived by myself in Cambridge (Massachusetts) years ago, I had a print of “The Kiss” on my wall. It was my very favorite one. I had been going through a pretty bad break-up from a toxic relationship, and often looked at it as a reminder of what love can be, and it gave me some hope. I love Klimt’s use of color, and his subject matter is so earthy and otherworldly, both at the same time, and very much alive.
I understand what you mean about beauty. It’s almost like how I feel sometimes when I’m extraordinarily happy – there is sometimes a twinge of sadness there, as it all is so fleeting, and so the very strong feelings on either end become mixed up with one another. In great happiness, there are tears. In great sadness, sometimes laughter. It’s the same thing with beauty – in all its glory, there is an impermanence, and so there are feelings of loneliness and a bit of sorrow.
And this is one of the great lessons of life, I suppose – the acceptance of impermanence, and the loss of beauty and life. Although, in a sense, these things are never really lost because they have existed in the minds and hearts of so many people, and have been shared and savored. Beauty and kindness and love, once they are put out there in the universe, affect, and have affected, everyone everywhere. I guess the best we can do in this life is to love one another as much as we possibly can, and then perhaps the lonely feelings won’t be filled with so much desperation.
Thank you for helping me sort it all out. You’ve made me feel less alone, too.
xo
Dear Mary,
I have been sitting here for hours reading on the web and trying to decide how I’m going to pull myself out of hell. And then I read ‘the solitude of i’.. wow. I thought I was back in the 90′s when I journaled and wrote poetry reading something I just wrote. It was me. It woke me. I have been in a fog for 7 months. My husband was killed instantly in a motorcycle accident June 5th and acceptance is long coming.
Thank you for writing this. Very strange. When I saw jj Henner’s ‘solitude’ I was even more blown away. It’s my current favorite image right now and it’s hanging on the wall 10 feet from me.
I don’t know what this will bring me but I feel somewhat more alive tonight. Not so alone. I appreciate you sharing such an amazing talent with me.
Sincerely, Cindy C
Cathy, I’m incredibly glad that we’ve connected in this way. I’m so very sorry to hear about the loss of your husband – I can only imagine how that must be for you. It’s still so fresh, after all, and I’m sure you’re still so brittle from the thought of it. My thoughts and kind wishes are with you.
The irony of a post about solitude and loneliness connecting two people who have never met, but who share something deeply and intrinsically, is not lost on me. I’m grateful to you for recognizing this and for allowing me into your thoughts. I hope you’re still experiencing the “awakened” feeling and that you *do* realize you’re not so much alone. Across the Internet, into the cyber-universe we travel, but touch each other no less than if we were putting pen to paper and corresponding in that more intimate way. Your comment has touched me so deeply, and I’m moved to tears. I thank you. Much, much love and peace to you.
Dear Mary,
It’s ‘Cindy’ but I do have a sister named ‘Kathy’.
I really appreciate your response. Your post’s have inspired me. I don’t know
exactly what it is I’m inspired to do, but today I don’t feel as low and I’m searching. That’s much more that yesterday.
Thank you, again.
Much love and appreciation.
Cindy
OOOHH, Cindy, I’m so sorry!
I think I saw my friend Cathy’s name while scrolling down, and then it got in my head, and in between the two “C” names I got confused, momentarily. I’m really sorry! UGH.
I’m glad you’re inspired, and are not as low. I’m sure the feelings with go up and down and change a lot, but it’s all okay, and the searching part is great, too. I’m searching, too – all the time.
Thinking of you…much love,
M