I've spent the past week by myself and it is the longest I've ever been on my own.
I have lived with family or friends or a mixture of both for my entire life. I've traveled on my own, but always ended up linking up with other travelers and so was never really and truly by myself for more than a few days. When I was asked to cat sit on a beautiful property set out in the woods in Northern California, I took it as the perfect opportunity for a writing retreat with me, myself, and I. Since the early days of the pandemic I have been living with my family- my parents, who are both in their seventies, and my sister and her wife, who are in the process of IVF. We also live with four dogs- all of whom are a handful. We have great chemistry and get along incredibly well, but after over a year of togetherness, I was truly ready for some alone time.
A dear friend of mine, who is both married and the mother of a six year old, sent me a text that said- alone time is the best gift you can give yourself. I received the text at the very beginning of my writers retreat for one and was riding a high of feeling that I'd finally found my path forward as a writer. I had pumped out about two thousand words every day for the past few days and was full of confidence. I'll get this book written in no time, I thought. And then it happened- I fell into a funk. Suddenly, and seemingly out of nowhere, I felt alone and lonely. I was scared and finishing my writing project seemed like an impossible mountain to climb. The walls caved in on me and all the voices of doubt and fear were turned up full volume. I wanted a distraction from all of the uncomfortable feelings.
In a stroke of luck I got a phone call from my sister at the exact moment that I needed it. She is one of the few people who I can cry to at the drop of a hat. Just hearing her voice broke the dam. All of the "not good enough" that was sitting like a thick layer of ice on top of my chest started to melt. The tears came and I cried with my entire body. Afterwards, I took a few deep breaths and realized everything had shifted. Just like that. Once again I had perspective. I can do this! One day, one word, one page at a time. Nothing of great or lasting value happens overnight. Greatness takes time and it also takes facing difficult feelings and being willing to spend time alone. I have finally arrived at that willingness and am building more tolerance. It feels like the biggest gift indeed.
I spent the rest of the day bathing in the outdoor bathtub, singing, and looking up into the trees. And, while I haven't returned to the fury of two thousand words a day, I have sat down and written every day and that, in and of itself, is an accomplishment. I'm becoming the writer I've always wanted to be by doing the work instead of focusing on the end goal and trying to map it all out in my mind. Action is the only way forward.
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