Getting Solitude Right

Apparently, I Can't Do It Alone.

For the past four months during daylight hours I have shared the house with Charlie and a changing stream of tradespeople. The kitchen renovation required carpenters, appliance deliverers and installers, tapers, floor guys, painters, plumbers, and electricians. Pretty much not a day went by that I was by myself. At the time, I pined for solitude. Now that the work is done and I have it, well, you know how it is with me. The grass is always greener, etc.

This is, of course, ridiculous. To have a quiet house, interrupted only by Charlie losing his shit over the mailman and Alexa following my command to put on NPR was exactly what I longed for. Now, I am free to talk to myself and go to the bathroom with the door open. I’m living the introvert’s dream. So why am I feeling so low?

Part of it is the double whammy of winter and the pandemic. I am stuck, disinclined to expose myself to the elements or others, or others to still-teaching-in person me. A few days ago, feeling particularly lonesome, I made a trip to Target. Perhaps it was just an off day, but only two people seemed to be working at the store, lines were long, stock was picked over, and my fellow shoppers were putting out strong Zombie Apocalypse vibes. I was relieved to get home to radio silence, punctuated by the occasional bark or snippet of All Things Considered. In a count your blessings way, I suppose, the trip was a success.

It is cold, the nights are long. The news is rarely good. To quote Dave Matthews, what I want is what I’ve not got. But I do have one thing that keeps me going: the realization, a new dawning, that even if things don’t improve, I will feel differently about them. In other words, it’s not about the situation itself, but a gradual, organic shifting of my frame of mind. This, plus news from my sons that they’re coming home for the weekend… Suddenly, every single blade of grass, everywhere, is equally verdant.