Quiet. Solitude. Alone time.
Most of today was that way for me. Everyone else took off for several hours while I stayed home, relaxed and running errands.
I’ve always valued my quiet, alone times. When a teen and in college, most of my quiet times were spent out walking – through the woods, around campus – or sitting and enjoying my surroundings – along the river, in a park, in a library. Now they’re often spent at home with TV or a book, in the car, or out running errands.
There were several years, when children were small, that quiet time was mostly something wished for, dreamt of, but rarely seen. Not even the bathroom was a refuge.
Fast forward to a couple of years ago — oldest was away at college, hub had already made the move south, and the two children still at home with me were out as often as (or maybe more than) they were at home. And it took a lot of adjusting for me to get comfortable with being all by myself. Sometimes it was downright uncomfortable. It was too quiet, too still, I was too alone. Every unknown sound was frightening simply because I was all by myself.
Eventually, I did adjust, enjoying that I could choose for myself what I would do, without interruption. I watch TV; read books, magazines; go shopping; go exploring; take photographs; research whatever is interesting me; listen to music; get online; write…
And sometimes I just sit in the quiet, breathing it all in. Just… Being.