Why do I prefer the outdoor quiet at midnight to the indoor version? Quiet’s quiet, right? Apparently not. I’ve noticed that the sad lonely periods of my life are associated with being sealed in a room (blank walls, laptop, ticking clock, saggy couch), whereas the happy lonely periods, the rich lonely periods, are associated with pine trees, monolithic granite cliffs, alpenglow snowfields, a chickadee flitting through camp: pausing, eyeing me, departing. I don’t recall indoor loneliness ever making me weep — it’s merely made me feel shitty. Outdoor loneliness, though, can conjure grateful tears, perhaps because an ancient animal piece of me intuits that the world is home, is habitat, and ultimately there’s no such thing as alone.
No doubt the arts can provide some of the same comfort. With that said, and with an emphasis of it being mid winter and in the midst of the worst of the Covid pandemic, I hope all are weathering through these trying times with grace and patience, possibly even finding some unexpected strength. A time to learn, as they say.
[via the sun]
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