Dear You,
It has been observed that fish and visiting relatives have a similar shelf life. In three days, they smell, and I begin to wish they would be called away. Other guests, it seems to me, have an even shorter shelf life.
On the second day of a stopover by even good friends, the demands of hospitality seem to deepen and I find my smile becoming rather fixed. The happiness I experienced on first greeting these people is a memory that grows harder to imagine with the passing hours. Indeed, it is obvious that evening that the joy of parting -- when? how much longer? -- will truly be a delight.
While my life is not without at least a modicum of drama, I find I have only enough conversation to carry me for a few hours. And how many games of cards can I endure without being seized with a desire for solitude? "Well," I say, not stifling my yawn," I guess I'll turn in now." And I pick up my novel en route to the bedroom.
An ancestor is reported to have observed: "Blessed are the comers and goers, and damn the comers and stayers." Interesting to note how much one inherits.
Showing posts with label solitude. Show all posts
Showing posts with label solitude. Show all posts
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Making Waves
Dear You,
We have looked into the depths of the ocean and the far reaches of space, but who really knows the truth about himself? Like an onion, each of us is layers and layers of self-deception. A second cousin is in prison after years of lying to himself about his alcoholism . . . until he drunkenly wrecked his car and killed someone. Now, with years of time in a cell, he writes pages and pages of self-analysis. While I don't recommend a prison term, who among us would not profit from time spent looking within?
Recently someone quoted from a memoir: "You can't see your reflection in moving waters." I've been thinking about that, exploring its truth. The idea is that if one wants to plumb the depths of the least-understood place on earth, the Self, one needs quiet and solitude.
But I look at my calendar with dismay. Busy, busy, busy. A rushed trip to Ohio here, a dinner party there, tickets to this play and that symphony -- all before tackling the stack of books and magazines that daily continues to grow. As I type this, I have NPR on the radio, and I'm listening to news. Perhaps at one time "retirement" meant some period of quiet and the opportunity to reflect on one's life. Today, lacking the dramatic event that suggests one should make a change in his life, it appears as unlikely as my decision to write on tomorrow's calendar page, "7-9 a.m. Explore Self."
We have looked into the depths of the ocean and the far reaches of space, but who really knows the truth about himself? Like an onion, each of us is layers and layers of self-deception. A second cousin is in prison after years of lying to himself about his alcoholism . . . until he drunkenly wrecked his car and killed someone. Now, with years of time in a cell, he writes pages and pages of self-analysis. While I don't recommend a prison term, who among us would not profit from time spent looking within?
Recently someone quoted from a memoir: "You can't see your reflection in moving waters." I've been thinking about that, exploring its truth. The idea is that if one wants to plumb the depths of the least-understood place on earth, the Self, one needs quiet and solitude.
But I look at my calendar with dismay. Busy, busy, busy. A rushed trip to Ohio here, a dinner party there, tickets to this play and that symphony -- all before tackling the stack of books and magazines that daily continues to grow. As I type this, I have NPR on the radio, and I'm listening to news. Perhaps at one time "retirement" meant some period of quiet and the opportunity to reflect on one's life. Today, lacking the dramatic event that suggests one should make a change in his life, it appears as unlikely as my decision to write on tomorrow's calendar page, "7-9 a.m. Explore Self."
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