Shelter from the wind

I was taking some ridiculously overdue time away. By time away, I mean solitude. I have learned over the years that a life without solitude can never be truly hospitable. In other words, if there is no place for me in me, there is no place for you either. So, space – I created space for myself. My friend offered her beach house to me (which turned out to be a house, literally on the boardwalk on Long Island complete with private beach entrance and private pool.) So, I loaded my car braved the seventeen bridges it takes to go 50 miles. As a general rule, Jersey folk don’t drive to NY, we take the train. Of course, there are many, many – did I say many – commuters who drive every dang day into the city. But, the rest of us are happy to go in every once in awhile and take public transportation. So, driving to LI was an adventure.

Yet my destination was not LI, it was solitude. And to accommodate that solitude, I had to fill up my proverbial gas tank, I had to make sure I had enough “cash” for the seventeen bridges. I needed helpers to accommodate solitude: books, wine, sunscreen.

Upon arrival, I was given the grand tour and welcomed with a beer. A good beer. Thank God for good beer. Then, when I was left on my own, I quickly took a walk down the shoreline. I made it about ½ mile down and then turned around, wondering what to do next. I mean I could keep walking… heck, I could walk to the end, but is that what I want to do?

Wow, I haven’t asked, “what do you want to do?” in a long time! I wanted to go back to the condo and read a bit. So, I did. I did that for 40 minutes and as if my legs had minds of their own, I stood up and wondering, “What do I want to do now?” It’s only been 40 minutes, certainly you can sit still for more than 40 minutes. Apparently not!

It’s not boredom, it’s terror. Terror of facing myself alone. Terror of having no other voices around to drown out the worries in my soul. There was no one else to share the grief of transition happening in my life. Just me. And, of course the books, the wine, and the sunscreen.

Day One: I read. I listened to the wind. I reflected. I penned letters to my partner, who I desperately wished was hear to share my solitude. I drank wine. I put on my sunscreen. I read. You get the picture.

Day two: More sunscreen, less wind, more breathing, continued letter but happier to be alone. And, then the most amazing thing happened. A tiny butterfly, not even an inch in diameter landed on the arm of my beach chair. She was gold with a bit of amber. I cupped my hand to her side to shelter her from the wind, which seemed heavier on her than on me. Her wings slowed down, my own breathing matched hers. She rested, and then road the wind to her next destination.

Plan for day three: Read, drink wine , apply sunscreen. breathe deeper, allowing the solitude to be for me a cosmic hand cupped to my side, sheltering me from the wind. Know that I too will ride the wind to my next destination, in due time.