I’ll tell you what hermits realize. If you go off into a far, far forest and get very quiet, you’ll come to understand that you’re connected with everything.
~ Alan Watts
Winter doesn’t seem to want to loosen its grip any time soon. There are still patches of hard snow, now covered in road dirt, sitting along the streets. Patches of snow where the sun never seems to reach sitting in backyards. The wind has howled making 10 degrees feel like 10 below. The only indication it’s March instead of January, is the fact that it’s still light out when I go to the kitchen to make dinner. A little promise that things will change.
While my body is more than ready for warmer weather, my mind is reluctant to let go of my winter hermiting. With spring will come park days and neighbors out to chat. No excuses to stay home because of snow storms or the arrival of a polar vortex. Being a hermit in nice weather is seen as, put kindly, slightly eccentric.
I think that’s because the social rules are set by extraverts, but I’ll save that discussion for another time.
I’ve loved solitude since I was a child. Taking breaks from play with the neighbor kids to come inside and play by myself for awhile. I spent the summers of my teen years gloriously doing my own thing, alone, for the long hours my parents were at work. I have always preferred reading, writing, listening to music, and daydreaming to socializing.
High school was a real challenge and I faked a lot of illnesses to get the solitude I needed. I was much more social in my twenties, and with my thirties came motherhood. There is no such thing as solitude when you are a mother. I struggled with the pressures of making sure the kids were “socialized.” We went to classes, playdates, park days, activities – for years. In between I was the always available mom. There for anything they needed. Much of the time I was cranky and exhausted. It was hard to socialize almost daily with people outside the house, and with my family at home. They were hard for my introvert daughter as well.
At some point she asked me if we could stop. If she could just take one year to not be running from one activity to another. I reluctantly agreed. Not because it didn’t sound wonderful, but because the glorification of busy is the norm. How could I complain to the other moms about how busy we were? I am so grateful now that she asked for what she needed. We were able to find balance. The kids have their own things now that they are older. They socialize in their own ways in the amounts that they need. I still am the always available to them mom, but I only have to socialize outside of that when I choose. I am much less cranky. I am a better mom for having listened to what we needed and for dropping out of the supermom competition. I sometimes feel guilty that I have time to write and read. That we eat dinner together as a family every night. I know most of my friends are running their kids everywhere and still exchanging stories about their exhaustion. I feel guilty I chose something else.
Choosing something that serves you and makes you happy is frowned upon when it isn’t what the masses have decided is the norm. Being a suburban hermit ain’t easy. I take the kids where they need to be, I go to the grocery store, I actually enjoy stopping to talk to the neighbors when they are out in the yard, I love taking my son to the park, watching my daughter at Taekwondo… but I don’t rush around to prove my worth. I have no fear of missing out.
I’m sorry to my fellow solitaries who need more time for themselves but don’t take it. But I’m not sorry for choosing a life that makes me yell at my kids less and makes me smile more. I’m not sorry for taking the time to breathe. I feel more connected to the world through solitude than I ever did running frantically around in it. You don’t need a mountaintop. You only need the courage to step away.