How much better is silence; the coffee cup, the table. How much better to sit by myself like the solitary sea-bird that opens its wings on the stake. Let me sit here forever with bare things, this coffee cup, this knife, this fork, things in themselves, myself being myself.”
Virginia Woolf, The Waves
How quiet is solitude?
In the rare moments I carve out to simply sit and breathe, to set aside my phone, to ignore the dishes and dinnertime hour demanding my attention, I use the time for awareness. My neighbors walking with their toy dogs pulling them along, looking for a place to deposit their lunch. The landscapers working in the heat, making noise as they blow the grass shavings into the yards.
I observe the hollyhocks and cosmos swaying in the breeze, their stems now heavy and drooping over the zinnias, the sunlight bouncing on their petals and creating an outline of brilliance. The bumblebee that lingers on the dahlia, drunk with the nectar it has collected, and resting peacefully on the flower’s pistil.
But in the solitude, in these moments of observing, I often hear music. Classical music, specifically, the works of Chopin, Satie, Schumann, particular etudes and sonatas, and many more compositions that pop into my head as I study the movements of the flowers and bees and people.
It is not surprising. While I move about in the morning getting ready for the day, as I sit at my computer to work, when I drive in my car, the music I play is classical, something I have adored since I was a teenager. My first love, if you will. Just as writing and flowers are a significant part of my life, so is music. I am also working on producing videos of flowers and gardens set to classical music and my poetry (stay tuned!), so the music continues to play in my head. Therefore, when I notice an Eastern Swallowtail butterfly clutching a zinnia, or the red-throated hummingbird drinking from its nectar or flying toward me and staring me down, specific pieces of music are performing in the background of my thoughts.
Solitude is the moment that calms each of us, that allows us to refresh, reflect, and relax. Often without realizing it, we create our own solitude because we are alone, a self-quarantine from our reality, and it is our momentary escape. What we consider our ideal setting might not work for another who prefers a different atmosphere. While music drifts through my head, that might be distracting for someone else. While I meander through the arboretum for relaxation, another might prefer sitting in a café indulging in an espresso and ginger apple scone.
Solitude is the moment that calms each of us, that allows us to refresh, reflect, and relax.
If we did not have those precious moments to ourselves, how creative would we be? How would we learn to be in the moment, to observe what requires concentration if only for a moment, to see what others take for granted?
Solitude does not have to be long and for some of us, it might be mere minutes we are allowed to disconnect ourselves from the mundane. But we cherish those minutes. Because sometimes it is more than reflecting. It is, simply, being in the moment.
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