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I have been blessed with many things, a
collection too long to list – and too ordinary for good column fodder. Still,
I’m thankful for my faith and salvation, a wife who loves me, children I cherish
(notwithstanding the occasional painful challenge), and the skills to make a
reasonable living. In short, I have little to complain about.
Which doesn’t always stop me. Though I yearn
for little, near the top of that short list is a bit more solitude. Time alone
with my thoughts is what I like best about writing, those few moments to pause
and reflect, responsible to no one but myself. That illusion pops on deadline
day, but it’s a nice deceit while it lasts.
At times I have thought I would
make a good hermit. I can almost picture myself in overalls, barefoot, beard to
mid-chest, holed up in a wood-heated shack at the end of some rutted dirt road.
Sort of like Ted Kaczynski without the explosives.
Big talk for a guy who has never
actually lived alone. In more circumspect moments I suspect I shouldn’t,
teasing my wife that if we hadn’t married I’d probably be pushing a shopping
cart somewhere. An exaggeration I hope, but there is something civilizing about
being accountable to people for whom you love and care.
Yet for most of us the prospect
of a little peace has its appeal. Adults in particular have to force the issue,
fighting the press of work, family, and a throng of other obligations that crowd
out even the stray quiet moment. We conjure endless ploys to get it: Hobbies,
yard work, a trip to the store, anything to blissfully slip into mental cruise
control.
Newsweek magazine recently ran an
article titled “Time To Do Everything But Think,” about the pace of life and how
technology has blurred the line between work and leisure. I read it a few
minutes ago in the dentist’s office where my wife is having minor surgery. I am
now 100 yards away at an outdoor café, laptop aglow, cell phone ready for the
news that she is ready. When I get home I’ll check my email, log on to the
computer at work, and make some calls. Except for a little beck-and-call duty
and the change of scenery it won’t be much different than a day at the office.
And so it goes.
For years one of my favorite
pastimes was fishing. As a boy, when there was less need for diversion, a
little daylight before dinner was all the excuse I needed. Over time
responsibility grew like barnacles, making it tougher to break free, to just
pause and reflect. Fishing was reduced to an opening day ritual before nearly
vanishing altogether.
Thus it was a big decision to
make this April’s trout opener. Unfortunately I waited too long to find a
partner, then remembered a church conference I wanted to attend that same
morning. On another day I might have cancelled the trip but this time I let the
boy lead the man: I enjoyed the conference in the morning and was on a Lassen
stream before dusk. I spent the night then hit the water again at dawn.
It turns out that seclusion isn’t
always as peaceful as one might hope. The lack of outside distraction allows
room for the internal variety, the flood of thought and emotion freed from those
barnacles. Perhaps true appreciation of solitude takes practice, or is best
enjoyed with a little company.
Next time I’ll plan ahead enough
to take a friend. It could be that I prefer my solitude in small doses, but in
any event the down payment on the shack is on hold.
© 1997- 2002 Brent Morrison
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