I enjoy a lot of solitude. And when I say enjoy, I mean that: I like to be alone. I like to go hiking alone (though yeah, it’s better with the goofy dog). I like to go to the movies alone. I occasionally like to take myself out to dinner alone. I definitely like to hang out at home alone, doing whatever I feel like doing whenever I feel like doing it.
Last year, when David was back east for a year, I lived on my own for the first time in my life.
Of course, I wasn’t really alone, because David was just a phone call away, and we did indeed talk almost every day.
But I got to get into my own rhythms, and when a problem arose, I got to deal with it on my own (and I mean “got to”: it was a pleasure to rise to the challenge and, more often than not, actually solve it—all by myself).
So this week, traveling with eight other people—including an almost-five-year-old—has been . . . not trying, exactly; but it does throw me out of my element.
My traveling companions are great, don’t get me wrong. But sometimes, I max out and need to find a bit of peace.
So right now, I’ve snuck upstairs for some alone time (and to fulfill my blog commitment)—though a short while ago I could hear the party downstairs discussing the next few days’ plans, and I knew I could weigh in if I needed to. And now the party seems to be progressing to a hilarity-filled “show” featuring farmers and horses and farts and the song “You Make Me Feel Like Dancing,” all “directed” (or at least instigated) by the five-year-old and featuring, as performers, the two birthday boys, my brothers-in-law Geoff and Wayne, who share June 24 as a day to celebrate. Which they seem to be doing in quite some style.
In fact, the sounds are intriguing enough that I think I will wrap this up and head back down. But I’m glad I took a few moments for myself—and for this.