The devastation of a divorce in 2017 ended a forty-year marriage. That dislocation and the sale of our home precipitated a series of moves. First to a sweet apartment across the street from my former home. Then another move to a 700 square foot apartment—new and sexy with a roof top deck and a garden if you wanted one. I did. I installed my garden in one of those large water troughs for livestock durable and conveniently sized for small plants tolerant of Seattle’s wet and cold weather and occasional sun. I dolled it up with the help of a friend with a small fountain, rocks and plants. It was soothing to sit beside it, the sound the the falling water a pleasant counterpoint to the noise of city life.
Then Covid came. I don’t think I ever had Covid. I did have a very bad “flu” which lasted for over a week, but I don’t think it was Covid. While pandemic didn’t drive my move, it prepared me for a life of solitude. A friend had moved to Samish Island and invited me up to check it out. I was enchanted by the location—an island you could drive to without a ferry—a narrow squiggle of land resting between the Samish Sea and Padilla Bay. It is dense with tall trees, a pleasant loop walk treats you to views of Guemes, and Lummi Islands, and an abundance of flowers, gardens and sheltered paths taking you deep into the ancient trees. Birds abound including eagles and hawk as well as all the usual other suspects—wrens, dove and sea gulls.
The following winter I spent ten days at a bed and breakfast on the island owned by a woman who is now a friend. I deliberately chose the winter because I wanted to see what it was like during the darkest and coldest part of our northwest winter. It wasn’t bad, and it was beautiful. So quiet. Calm and generous with views and gentle people.
I moved to Samish Island May 31, 2021. I rented a small cottage (about 1,000 square feet) which was built in 1897. The cottage has been renovated but there remain the remnants of its original foundation and fir floors. It was originally a tavern—The Atlanta Tavern—located next to the Atlanta Home Hotel built in 1886. All the comfort a pioneering logger could ask for. The hotel and tavern were located down the road from me and across the street. The hotel burned to the ground in 1933. Enterprising pioneers moved the tavern—my little cottage—across the street and up a bit to where it stands today.
Now, almost three years later I am a happy Samish Island resident. My move to this remote location shook loose a feeling, a desire, to change almost everything. There has been a process of learning new ways: it takes 30 minutes one way to get to a grocery store. It takes at least 30 minutes to go anywhere—except for the town of Edison which is nearby and wonderful.
I think solitude is often equated with loneliness, or isolation. I am neither lonely nor isolated. Solitude offers an opportunity to learn about yourself free from the pressure to meet the needs or desires of others. No children, no partner, no job, nothing requiring me to “show-up. I know that sounds self-indulgent, or self-centered, but I don’t think I am either of those things.
I am grateful for the chance to see what it is like to live alone. I never have. I left home and went to college, then to marriage and then the birth of two sons. Jobs and all they entail. A married life, with family.
I think it’s a bonus now to have the time and energy to explore all the things still left for me to do. Often, I am surprised that a simple accomplishment, such as writing this, satisfies and delights. Raking the falling leaves from the flower beds pleases me. Having friends over for a potluck is more than a feast, it is a coming together of ideas, and camaraderie. Indulging myself taking yoga class three times a week. Cooking complex recipes—for myself—not just for company. Eating what I want, when I want and where I choose.
I have learned to sit with uncertainty and unease, but I also experience the excitement and wonder of new relationships, new experiences and new adventures. My life today is rather like walking a labyrinth; the path is not straight. It allows the walker to deviate and even wander but eventually reach the center. Standing at the center, you realize that it was the winding path that satisfied. The arrival is a bonus. A moment of quiet and ease.
Solitude allows me to appreciate my friends and family more than I ever have. I have the time and the energy to focus on them. I have more friends now than I ever have had who support me and make me happy. I am a better person today than I have ever been. I believe I am standing on the threshold of a liminal moment.
I would love to hear from any of you about your experiences with solitude. Drop a note to me at albertasweinberg@gmail.com.
