“Loneliness is like sitting in an empty room and being aware of the space around you. It is a condition of separateness. Solitude is becoming one with the space around you. It is a condition of union. Loneliness is small, solitude is large. Loneliness closes in around you; solitude expands toward the infinite. Loneliness has its roots in words, in an internal conversation that nobody answers; solitude has its roots in the great silence of eternity.”

- Kent Nerburn

via whiskey river

I realize it’s been almost three weeks since I posted.  That probably shouldn’t  bother me or anyone else at this point; though I do wish I hadn’t read all those best-blogging-practices articles before I started this blog. “Three posts per week plus three comments per week on other blogs” always sticks in my mind as the best goal.

Guess we know that’s not gonna happen.

The only difference between this break and others is: I didn’t preplan it – I just let it happen – or not happen.

What can I say:

Spring arrived unexpectedly in January this year so I’ve been outside more – landscape tending and just enjoying.

Been mulling a new book project.

Been indulging in a little traditional January evaluation of my life’s principal elements.

Deep? Nah – more  like deep’s opposite this time:  just being without discussion.

I’ve continued along on Twitter. Follow me there if you’re prone to dire imaginings when I don’t check in.  But other than Griz and the cats, I think I’ve gotten most friends and family trained to tolerate my periodic vanishings.  Haven’t I?

Even Griz and I have mutual consent for periodic unavailability.  And the cats – well, cats are innately autonomous.* I sometimes think their dependency is primarily my perception.

Interestingly, I do value connection and I have learned the blogosphere is about as comfy a connection as you’ll find for us hermits.  On the other hand, I tend to resist obligation (fabricated or otherwise); hence my discomfort with regular posting.

I know resistance to obligation is considered a form of pathology by some.  But these days most nonconformities are considered pathological by someone; and I think acknowledging, accepting and balancing one’s insanities is the key to good mental health for most of us.  So wacko or not, my little problem with obligation is not one of my life’s principal elements I plan to change anytime soon. It’s a part of why I value solitude – I can indulge it without bothering others most of the time.

After all, this is a blog from a hermit.

According to Lao Tzu: “A good traveller has no fixed plan & is not intent on arriving.”

I’ll be back soon.

*ASIDE FOR CAT LOVERS: I was always a dog person in the past. Our two semi-feral cats, Dodge (mother) and Dart (son) are the first cats with whom I’ve cohabited since my childhood.  Now that I’ve become enamored of cats and started to pay attention, I realize defining cats as aloof and autonomous is a generalization.  Cat personalities are as individualistic as human.

When I leave home for 24 hours or more, Dart, our wilder and more routinely-autonomous cat, celebrates my return with unabashed enthusiasm (very similar to the way dogs typically react).  Dodge, the more “civilized” and astutely manipulative cat (some socialization as a kitten), greets my return with initial disdain. She then combines deep purring with intermittent growls and feigned nipping – clearly expressing her pleasure over my return, but simultaneously demonstrating her disapproval of my recent, offensive desertion.

]]> http://blogfromahermit.com/2010/01/19/blogopause-with-aside-of-cat-blogging/feed/ 2 http://blogfromahermit.com/2009/12/06/true-lover-of-solitude/ http://blogfromahermit.com/2009/12/06/true-lover-of-solitude/#comments Mon, 07 Dec 2009 02:20:04 +0000 Trish http://blogfromahermit.com/?p=2882 A poem – one of solitude’s trinkets. Or why I don’t write sometimes -

I often yearn for
The wordless place
Of quiet brushstrokes
And gently rustling nature,
Where falling backward
In total trust
Without direction
Feels as perfect
As its common opposite.
Where the restful process
Of simply being
Is creativity enough.

And this place,
By its simple perfection,
Without judgment, labels,
Goals or true effort
Can transform a nothingness
Into a somethingness
An objet d’art from and for
My unlonely spirit,
At the very least.

Though sometimes it rends
Manifest trinkets
Worth barter or trade
Readmission to the throng,
Symbolizing thereto
A “successful” and reasoned passage
Into and back out
Of Treasured Solitude.

But trinketless passages
To and from
And about the altered state
Between the two
Hold no less
Intrinsic value
For the True Lover
Of Solitude.

- Trish Wareing (c) 2009

Of course, it’s a good idea to have enough social moxie to get dressed and be civil when you make that run for groceries, collect the mail, or transact whatever business is necessary to maintain yourself and your independence.  A standard presentation of conformity at the right times keeps the SHOULD ADDICTS from getting curious or feeling obliged to come take a look – to rescue you or your soul.

It is hazardous to get so comfortable in your solitude that you forget about the should addicts. Difference is quite scary to should addicts. Mostly, they’ll think you should be more social;  because if you’re more social, they’ll know what you’re up to. And it’s their fear of the unknown that will send them after you – for whatever reason. So take a shower, wear clean clothes and a pair of shoes when you go to town. Don’t growl at the clerks and bureaucrats (too much). Small prices to pay to maintain the illusion that you understand what you should be doing – whether you’re doing it routinely or not.

If you’re lucky, your friends and relatives (especially adult children) will come to accept your hermitic idiosyncrasy. Maintaining at least some level of ongoing dialog nurtures this acceptance.  Presume when they voice their concerns about your situation (alone off in the woods or wherever) it is an expression of love not just curiosity about how you’re using their inheritance. Check in now and then so they know you’re okay and that you still care about them. Eventually they’ll accept you as that rarely-seen character of family lore.

But there is one SHOULD of solitude which I consider a rather important courtesy. Do some emergency back-up planning. Let some trusted other know where to find the keys, passwords, important personal paperwork and mechanical instructions for the property. Avoid burdening your kids or friends with an unexpected, long-distance rescue if something happens. At least try to grease the skids a little in case you exit the scene unexpectedly – whether temporarily or permanently.

It helps to strive for simplicity around the hermitage; but even if you can’t do that, at least finish up that “estate planning” paperwork you’ve been putting off and make sure whoever needs to find it, can find it.

Live the way you want, but try not to leave a big mess. It’s just rude.

Then I woke up.

But I know what prompted the dream: yet another hermit researcher found this blog and hoped for an interview with a “contemporary hermit” including a visit to “the hermitage.” I suppose that’s what I get for being a peculiar being.

After the first request, I expanded my About page in hopes of disqualifying me from any further research. But it turns out one big attraction to many current researchers is how the internet has improved the lot of us hermit-types, allowing us access to the world with only a minimal amount of live interaction required. (Which is true for everyone, not just hermits – so, duh?)  But apparently the new About page (which includes a reference to our online business) only exacerbated the researchers’ curiosity, even though I was trying to clarify the fact that although I value solitude, I’M MORE OF A HERMIT WANNABE than a real hermit.

So, theoretically, the internet is creating more hermits per capita. Therefore, my participation shouldn’t be necessary for the research, anyway. Right? But, according to one student, many [smart] hermits who are active online use pseudonyms, and are thus more difficult to track down. I thought about using a pseudonym before I started this blog and probably would have were it not for the admonitions of my blogging coach, Steve Mays. And I’m not really trying to hide – I just prefer not to be found. There is a difference and it’s a difference which I felt (at least initially) justified using my real name.

Generally, these student requests do give Griz and me a good chuckle though. After all, successful hermit research has got to be a bit difficult (if not downright risky) for obvious reasons: notoriety and company are anathema to the motivation and lifestyle of most hermits.  But even though I appreciate the humor of these contacts, my gut reaction still leans toward using the queries as an excuse to delete this blog and retreat from blogging all together.  Anyone who follows this blog  knows I often hang in by a fragile thread.

Actually, I am not opposed to answering students’ questions via e-mail, provided the researcher volunteers some verifiable references about who they are. But requests for a live interview and visit feel a bit presumptive and invasive given any hermit’s preference for privacy and solitude. To quote myself from an earlier post:

“Hermits (like sasquatches) are also unlikely to aggregate in quantifiable numbers near universities, so valid hermit research becomes even more problematic. I have no doubt one could recruit a few rugged grad students to scour the hills for rumors of hermitages. But even if the grad students find the hermits – how happy do you think the hermits will be about it? (See my post on curmudgeonly misanthropes here). I assure you even the happiest hermit can put on an unhappy face in defense of his privacy.)”

Fortunately, Griz and I have a locking gate, a good security system and (WARNING, WARNING) are well-armed and firearm proficient. We aren’t hunters and we’re actually more pacifists than big gun advocates, but we are practical. Calling 911 is one thing, expecting a timely response out here is something else entirely. The fire power is a solitude and self-sufficiency thing.

Maybe I’ll create a FAQs page here to help out the students. I am a big fan of higher education, though admittedly some avenues of “research” (and research grants) leave me metagrobolized.

And until we find a trap baited with a good bottle of riesling, chocolate and a cheese plate – or we notice someone constructing a blind with telephoto lens along the property line, I guess we don’t have too much to worry about.

Of course, we still have the cell phones. As a female who logs a fair number of rural highway miles alone, I’m particularly fond of the safety aspect. But we don’t often give out our mobile numbers; and in spite of our overall high-tech-ness, we are consistently resistant to smart phones and texting. We have the services available, but we prize our disconnectedness too much to bother.  After all, the more avenues with which you connect to others, the more avenues with which they connect right back. It always comes back to that solitude thing.

Griz and I use our cell phones most frequently to talk with each other – not only when we’re miles apart, but for pings from opposite ends of the property. As I’ve said before, we allow each other a great deal of alone time, even when we’re in relative proximity.

Other programmed numbers are almost exclusively close friends and family. At night, I set my cell phone to vibrate and place it beside the bed. If there’s a loved-one emergency, that’s the number they’ll use. I’m a high-quality, but fairly light sleeper. I hear the vibration – more than that is just too jarring.

But every so often, especially after a flourish of social activity and demands (like this August into September), I go through a phase of unconsciously leaving my cell phone by the bed throughout the day. This week I’ve missed several important (though not time-critical) calls as a result of this unconscious, don’t-call-me behavior. If you’re a person that values or needs solitude, you probably understand this. If you’re one of those never-misses-anything, well-connected types, such an oversight probably seems totally irresponsible.

Us hermits find ways to keep the cord cut. Our internal peace is dependent on it. If for some reason we’re not circumstantially allowed our ration of solitude – we find ways, consciously or unconsciously, to get it back. When we crave our solitude, we forget our cell phones, we “accidentally” leave the land line off the hook, we cancel appointments, miss meetings, and we just don’t show up for that party we said we “definitely” wouldn’t miss. Our friends learn tolerance.

I always know when I’ve deprived myself of my allotment of solitude:  there’s my cell phone, sleeping-in at bedside, vibrating away to itself.

I apologize for my extended blogging absence.  I thought I’d get back to blogging with more zeal once the August frenzy subsided. But the frenzy was more intense than anticipated and it actually extended into the first of week of September. I’m recovering now. With the cell phone sleeping in, we’ve had a very quiet week. I’ve reconnected with my trees and my Self.  I’ll try to be a better blogger.

…the hermit needs a break – again.

In reality I’ll probably only get about a week of solitude out of the deal. Summer typically brings a more active social schedule to our household – living, breathing interaction, not just the virtual kind. This year, August’s comings and goings will stretch our hermitic limits.  What quiet time I find, I’ll be savoring without report.

I hope my loyal friends will take no offense.  Just in case you hadn’t noticed yet – it’s the nature of the beast.

See you in September.

Click here to view the embedded video.

The film is food for thought on many levels. Noland is clearly a different man after his four years of solitude.  The life he left behind has also changed – people have moved on without him, including the love of his life.

Naturally, I was most fascinated with the challenges Noland faced while on the island. Contemplating how you would fair facing similar circumstances is part of the movie’s fun. The daily challenge of survival at a subsistence level is a lot different than choosing a comfortable level of solitude with access to modern amenities.

Would you (as Chuck Noland does) anthropomorphize a volleyball for someone to talk with?  How long would it take before you decided to risk all and leave the relative, though uncomfortable, safety of the island to challenge the sea on a rickety raft?

Personally, if there was any other life on the island (birds, rodents, or even non-toxic reptiles), I’d like to think I’d try for a relationship with one of them over talking to an inanimate object.  On the other hand, you don’t want to ultimately face having to eat a creature you’ve befriended – no protein in a volleyball.

As much as I treasure solitude, surviving at a subsistence level holds little appeal for me. It would be a laborious challenge alone – not a game like we see on television’s Survivor and Lost which were both developed after Cast Away’s success.

Although I can find genuine contentment in relative simplicity, and I’m fairly certain I could do well without much human interaction, trying to survive without books might launch my raft off the island – a library or die.

Dr. Peterson’s specialty, positive psychology, sounds great to me. It’s geared toward promoting what’s right with us rather than just trying to fix what’s wrong with us. I also realize Dr. Peterson’s “no happy hermits” statement is addressing the psychological dangers of social isolation – a valid point. But isolating and choosing solitude (temporarily or for longer periods) are two different behaviors and I think Psychologist Beth Waddell does a fair job of addressing those differences in her responsive post here.

Now, on to the happy hermit’s take:

First off, saying “There are no happy hermits” is about as scientifically valid as saying “There are no happy sasquatches.”  Those illusive sasquatches (if they exist) are not making themselves available for research – but neither are us happy hermits. Not many hermits (happy or otherwise) seek psychological counseling – the happy ones are even less likely to do so.

Hermits (like sasquatches) are also unlikely to aggregate in quantifiable numbers near universities, so valid hermit research becomes even more problematic. I have no doubt one could recruit a few rugged grad students to scour the hills for rumors of hermitages. But even if the grad students find the hermits – how happy do you think the hermits will be about it? (See my post on curmudgeonly misanthropes here). I assure you even the happiest hermit can put on an unhappy face in defense of his privacy.

But perhaps my greatest caution to Dr. Peterson is this:

When I say “There are no happy psychologists,” it doesn’t really matter. I am neither a psychologist nor a scholar. I’m just some north woods blogger with not much of a following.

But Dr. Peterson is by definition an expert.  Though it appears he is not an expert on hermits, he is considered somewhat of an expert on happiness. People are listening to Dr. Peterson and his words are contributing mightily to this ongoing bad hermit press.

C’mon, Dr. Peterson, at least temper the statement to: ”There aren’t many happy hermits.” It rolls off the lips with only one extra syllable and its statistical validity is guaranteed by the fact that there really aren’t that many hermits period.

Some hermits are happy, some probably are not. Most of us hermits find solitude more revitalizing than socializing. In solitude, we find clarity. Clarity is a good thing. For hermits, so is solitude.

Disclaimers: In the dim past of my youth, I seriously considered a counseling career and directed my education accordingly, though I ultimately chose sailing over grad school. I have personally used the services of two very good psychologists to help me through a couple of life’s inevitable rough patches – once while I was living in relative solitude, once while I was not living in solitude at all. I would not hesitate to seek psychological assistance again should I feel the need.

I am continually impressed with the profound beauty and depth of his posts (and pages). I highly recommend his blog to anyone with a contemplative streak, with or without religious affiliation.

Whether you are true eremite (like Mike), or more of a half-time hermit (like me), I think Mike’s reflections on the value of solitude and integral practice will resonate with spiritual truth.