I am not broken, or incomplete, for savoring being alone. Most of my days are spent talking to people… some people I know, many I haven’t met before. By the end of the day, or the end of a few days, when I go home (or to my hotel) and sit down in front of my computer (or my writing journal) I tend to lose myself in the happy world of words and images and stories that pour out of me. I really like the not talking part of being alone. I like the choosing whatever I want to listen to (or not) and whatever I want to eat (or not). I like listening to what my body and mind request… considering their requests, and then granting them (or not).
Above all, what I might love most about being alone is driving alone, once I’m outside of the city. I love long straight flat stretches of wide open space, with no sound but the wind rushing past my car. I love winding up mountain passes and down the other side… stopping for snacks and coffee in some familiar places and some unfamiliar places. I like thinking fondly of the friends and acquaintances whose exits I’m driving by, and mentally waving in their general direction. I enjoy having songs come to me as I move, and listening to them in my head without actually hearing them. I love watching the moon as it moves from my front to my back… waxing gibbous — tonight, 99% full and growing — having almost reached its potential for this cycle.
After the moon went from my front to my back, the night sky ahead of me was dark but for the lights of distant towns and other vehicles on the road. A shooting star slid brightly down the sky from right to left, reminding me to keep my eyes opened to the world around me… to take in the surprises of the world around me … and to choose which music I want to listen to (or not) whether I am alone or not. It is a hard thing, for some of us, to listen to ourselves and honor our own requests of ourselves when other people are involved. I feel lucky to be one of those people… I am aware that, just like the people in my life are a blessing to me, I am a blessing to them.
I have eleven more hours of solo driving time in the next three days. I smile, to think that I may have the pleasure of seeing another shooting star during tomorrow night’s drive.
Sara Lobkovich Newsletter
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