Years ago, I truly hated being alone. My sons would be off with their dad for a week, my husband would leave town to visit his family, and I'd find myself alone in the house, wandering from room to room, at a loss as to what to do with myself. Often, I'd wind up in the easy chair by the wood stove, curled into a ball, crying...seriously...then would spend hours writing in my journal, trying to figure out why I hated to be alone in my own skin.
But, that was then. Now, it's all different. I am home alone and it's nice. I lie in bed in the morning, watching the sun break through the trees and think about all the time ahead of me, about how I will spend my day, and it feels good. I know that all the chores, like filling the wood box, splitting kindling, and doing the dishes are solely on my shoulders, but that's okay as the rest of the time is mine. Of course, I still have to work, which takes quite a chunk out of the day, but then, it's free time.
I can't remember the last time I lay down on the couch for an hour after work and read a book, eating a few potato chips and having a nice drink, without the need to carry on a conversation with anyone or to rush off and prepare a large meal for dinner. The cats and I were quite content with scrambled eggs with chopped tomato and broccoli for supper.
I don't have to feel guilty for rushing up to my desk and computer to write, leaving anyone downstairs on their own. The cats are sleeping by the stove and could care less if I sit at my desk for the next three hours.
They will join me once I move into bed and we'll settle in for another night.
I'm not sure when this new attitude towards aloneness really told hold, a few years ago, I think. But, it's comforting to know I can be comfortable by myself. Now, it feels like an intrusion into precious time when a neighbor suggests I stop by for lunch or an afternoon drink. It's nice of them to offer, but I decline, preferring to stay home. Solitude is a good thing; I can hear myself think these days and what I hear, I like.
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