Solitude

"Being alone isn't lonely
Sought after like a holiday
Being home is my vacation
Post-card dreams of a full-sized bed"
 - Library Magic, by The Head And The Heart


I enjoy being with people, though I also rarely mind being alone. Perhaps it's the combination of growing up with eight siblings while being an avid reader who would spend hours perched in my top bunk or on the back porch with a book. On Meyers Briggs, I test just barely more in the extrovert side than introvert, like 52% and 48% or something.

  For over three years I've shared an apartment with roommates, and it's been great. First Rachel and now Tascha, with a few interns or visitors in the guest bedroom at times. I love them both dearly. We're not just housemates but close friends, sharing the ups and downs of missions life overseas. The funny thing is, when I first moved to Ecuador I was determined to live alone. I had lived with roommates before and had a great experience, but then spent six months in Costa Rica learning Spanish. During that time I lived with a Costa Rican family as part of the full immersion process, and honestly, it was a pretty bad experience. There were screaming matches between the mother and teenage daughter, I was never allowed to do my own laundry for fear I - as a presumably careless gringa - would waste water, there was a dog who peed in my room, and so on. Yet despite my resolve to live alone, God had something better in mind. Of course. Living with Rachel and now Tascha has provided immediate community, especially when confronted by a foreign culture day in and day out. I'm incredibly thankful for them and always look forward to recaping our days over dinner. However as much as I love the company and friendship, the 48% introvert part of me still appreciates time in solitude.

  Sunday mornings I get up and listen to a sermon by my pastor back home while getting dressed and eating breakfast. I listen to music while doing the dishes: lately, it's been a good deal of Ray LaMontagne, particularly the song "Airwaves", in which the singer repeats "Help me, help me," in a husky stage whisper during the chorus. There's something strong in the rough vulnerability and I love it. I walk to church a little before 10:00 am, heading down the hill, across a busy intersection, and to the large church directly across the street from Casa Gabriel. From then on I've with people all day, but until 10:00 am, that little slice of morning is all mine, and I treasure it.

  The only time I have lived alone was when I rented a tiny budget apartment. It had no dining room, just a counter dividing the kitchen from the living room, and a couple of bar stools I bought from Ikea. It was hard to have more than one or two people over in such a small space, but at least once I managed to have a group over, seven of us sitting in the living room eating quesadillas and playing board games.

I remember my first and only Christmas in that apartment. I bought a fake tree and spent the afternoon putting it together and decorating it. Close to Christmas I wrapped all the gifts to my family and placed them under the tree. On Christmas eve, back for the night from watching "It's A Wonderful Life" at my parent's house, I turned off all the lights except for the tree. The steady white lights, like indoor stars, were so peaceful, so beautiful and comforting, I lay down on the carpeted floor and stared up through the branches. I was so content. Alone but not lonely. I had Christmas with my family and Christmas in my own little home, and it was just right.

There are seasons in life, such as parenthood, when it's difficult to nearly impossible to organize time according to individual desires. Yet I hope that even if I only have fifteen minutes here and there to read a good book and scribble down a few thoughts that it will be enough. Time has always been important to me, a flighty thing always running forward and only ever standing still in memory. I hope that in company or alone, with whatever and whoever God lets time bring, I will be able to find the good, the balance of grace, and let it be enough.