When solitude morphs
I had just become a book publisher who had absolutely zip-zero-zilch experience in book publishing. My background had always been in periodicals -- newspapers, newsletters, magazines, and professional journals. But the organization for which I worked bestowed its trust in me and sent me off to this beautiful campus for 10 riveting days of learning to help me get up to speed via total immersion.
I rented a bicycle so that I had wheels to gallivant around Palo Alto (where I'd spent 6 years of my childhood) during my "down" time, brought a wonderful novel to read, and spread out in a luxurious dorm room (honestly) with two beds all to myself.
It was about as close to heaven as I could imagine.
And for 3 days I was deliriously happy. From the time I was 9, I had set my sights on attending Stanford University (though that was not where I ended up), and so I prowled the book store to find the perfect "Stanford Alumni" sweatshirt. I loved having only one focus: learning. And I was living my dream.
But on the 4th day, something snapped. I began to feel miserable. Horrible, teary, insecure, dreadful. Watching the contingent of animated attendees from Mexico, I realized the source of my despair: utter loneliness, much of which flowed from touch deprivation.
I had no idea till then how much I depended on the close contact I had taken for granted in my sweet family of huggers back in Minneapolis. But there it was. I tried petting dogs on campus, and it helped a bit. But not enough. I called Mr. B and cried so hard, he booked a ticket to fly out to San Fran so he could fly home with me when the course ended.
I found a way to temper the loneliness by hanging out with the Mexicans, who were so warm and friendly and whose conversations always seemed to be punctuated with touch and concluded with a hug. They were, to borrow an Italian term, my pyzahns after all.
And as I reflected on the remarkable comments left in yesterday's post, I stumbled upon my own answer to the question I posed. So here it is: I often start out in the glory of solitude, but if I stay alone too long, it morphs to the pain of loneliness. I need both solitude and company.
I'd like to think I can reach a point in my life when the glory of solitude trumps the pain of loneliness for good.
But don't hold your breath.
Thank you to all who courageously posted your answers. You inspire me.
Image by oldtasty
"The Sense of Touch" - 59th Photo of the Year International First Place Winner by Damon Winter of the Dallas Morning News
(Hey, Derrick, I can post pictures of pretty churches, too! Hey, Pyzahn, like how I learned to use the word!)
Comments
touch is such a huge piece of a healthy person's life and yet it is often reduced to a prescriptive piece - hand shakes, social hugs, or worse - it isn't available.
as a male teacher i am urged not to touch my children under any circumstances - and i get that. there are some sad stories of people who have abused that privilege and so here we are. but it is the saddest thing when a child is hurt or crying and you have to avoid contact and look for a female teacher or witnesses!!! that's life. i worry about the message it sends to children because i can't tell them exactly why that is the way it is. at home, i love my hugs with my own children. love them!!! steven
I probably wouldn't do that today.
"I'd like to think I can reach a point in my life when the glory of solitude trumps the pain of loneliness for good."
Awesome, humbling and true hopefully for me too.
I see you can post nice photographs - now, was it your own?! :0)
Touch is important and is either very welcome or freaks some people out! I think I have grown to be more of a toucher(!) but it has to be genuine, not of the "have a nice day" variety!
Steven's comments highlight how crazy the world has become. I think the teachers' 'no touching' rule applies to both sexes in UK - as it should if we're to have it at all - but it means that we are apparently crying out for more male role models in primary schools because men won't come forward. And is there any wonder!
I apparently deleted a comment without my knowledge. Please come back, won't you?
I'll gladly make an offering at the alter of the comment goddess.
To all: I've been responding to comments via email lately. I love "visiting" that way. Hope I haven't missed anyone. Sometimes when my unopened email descends below the scroll line, I get behind. It doesn't mean I don't love you, truly. Because I do.
(((HUGS)))
What a question. What an answer. My girls came to me when I was young, the first when I was 22, and the second when I was 24. They grew up in a single parent household...me. And in the eleven year period it took me to find the one I felt good enough to share their lives with I've experienced the blissful solitude of morning dawn coming after a late night date with my gaggle of gals, to the heart wrenching lonliness of a december night's bed. In a way, solitude is much like a cup of coffee/tea/20 ounce diet dr. pepper while lonliness is the cold of the sheets when you turn over and find no one there.
What a question. What an answer. My girls came to me when I was young, the first when I was 22, and the second when I was 24. They grew up in a single parent household...me. And in the eleven year period it took me to find the one I felt good enough to share their lives with I've experienced the blissful solitude of morning dawn coming after a late night date with my gaggle of gals, to the heart wrenching lonliness of a december night's bed. In a way, solitude is much like a cup of coffee/tea/20 ounce diet dr. pepper while lonliness is the cold of the sheets when you turn over and find no one there.
Touch definitely gets too ignored - it's strange how phobic of touch Anglo Saxon society is.