Month: December 2021

solitude

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My social life has changed radically in the past seven years, and it’s hard to distinguish how much is due to Lyme, and how much is due to COVID. Now I’m trying to figure out why I like the quieter life so damn much.

“There is a difference between solitude and loneliness.”
― Maggie Smith

This is profoundly important to recognize. I am not lonely, nor am I pining away for FOMO (for those of you who’ve lived under a rock for too long, FOMO is “fear of missing out,” something most of outgrow sometime between middle school and the twenties). If I wanted to see people and be more social, I would.  But (she says in her best pouty voice) I don’t wanna.

Therefore, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to what this means to me. I was stumped. I am not someone who shies away from people. Some might call me an extrovert, but I’m an extroverted introvert, i.e., someone who can be outgoing and enjoy chit-chat, but absolutely need to be alone to recharge. It’s quite a fascinating subject to read about, and there are some fine books written on introversion. Which brings me to the obstacle I kept coming back to:

“Solitude is fine but you need someone to tell that solitude is fine.”
― Honoré de Balzac

Our society is adamantly focused on extroversion. Whether it’s a commercial showing shiny happy people getting together or a Hallmark movie highlighting the exhausting search for family and love, we are rarely shown people who are alone and content. This was getting under my skin and causing me to judge myself; to deem my desire to be alone as a negative, rather than a positive.

So of course I asked my therapist about this conundrum. He asked me how I felt when I was alone. It brings me back to the comfort and safety of childhood, those nights when I curled up wherever there was privacy in our home and read. I remember staying up late in our study, watching the little tv dad had in there for watching golf and tennis, and discovering the joy of watching a good movie (I vividly recall in particular Oklahoma and On the Town.)

I answered my own question and there was my “permission.” If solitude was what I wanted, then I should have it.

“If you’re lonely when you’re alone, you’re in bad company.”
― Jean-Paul Sartre

I have never loved my own company more than now. It’s a preference to be alone at this time. My craving solitude is more than a reallocation of my energy (still a necessary component of having Lyme).  It’s more than a safety precaution in COVID times. I’ve always been this way.

“The greatest thing in the world is to know how to belong to oneself.”
― Michel de Montaigne

Note that I say “at this time.” I don’t know if I’ll always prefer the level of solitude I have now.  But for the present, I not only prefer it, I demand it. I’m certain this all has to do with healing from the past decade.

A lot has happened between 2010 and now. Mom died. My marriage went downhill. My ex took a buyout and left his job. Katie came back home (that was a good thing, but still stressful). We decided to divorce. That’s when life went into overdrive.

Between December 10, the day we decided to divorce, and January 17, the day I went to Bennington, I packed the house and got it ready to sell, and found another house. I was still negotiating the contract on the bus from the Albany airport and Bennington. I moved four weeks after starting grad school. There was much solitude during those two years, but not the kind that recharges, as anyone who has gone to grad school can attest.

And then came the Lyme years, where solitude was a given, not a choice. Being sick is a special kind of solitude, and it required all of my energy.

“I enjoy convalescence. It is the part that makes the illness worth while.”
― George Bernard Shaw

Now that I am in remission for long stretches I have time to process this long stretch of change and begin to heal. Healing is a very subjunctive thing, much like grief, pain, sickness, and love. My process for healing is to immerse myself into things I want to do, including napping, walking, reading, cooking, swimming, cleaning, writing, studying, and yes, solitude.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with this, but I’ve grown positively crotchety about guarding my time zealously. I am enjoying the peaceful feeling of the freedom to do what nourishes you after a long illness.

“Loneliness is the poverty of self; solitude is richness of self.”
― May Sarton

This is the truth. I can’t be the only person I know who prefers solitude. I find my newfound solitude to be the the rewards of major lifestyle changes. I wanted this. I downsized my world to get this time, so my job is to honor what I have created.

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holidays and opinions

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I hate it when people don’t believe what I say. When I say something I don’t fuck around with double meanings or hidden codes. Sometimes I do tell people what they’d like to hear, especially about my health (sure,I feel good right now)  or how they look or feel. This rant pertains to other things. If I say something doesn’t bother me, IT DOESN’T BOTHER ME. Trust me, you’ll know if it does.

The more puzzling question is why people distrust what I say in the first place. There might be some form of communication they learned at an early age that I didn’t get. At any rate, it drives me crazy, both with Lyme and with life. It’s also exhausting to feel that I have to re-explain once again, that yes, this is how I feel.

This spills over into holidays, mainly because of our obsessive mania that everybody “have a good holiday” as if there is a one-size-fits-all formula for that. All holidays are loaded with baggage, but for most of us, none more than Christmas. Over the years, I’ve dropped off celebrating most other holidays. Easter? I’m atheist, so that one was easy to let go. July fourth? Other than deviled eggs, not much I miss one way or the other.. If we had children around, things might be different, but that’s a whole other blog topic. Katie’s theory is that if you don’t have happy Christmas memories during your childhood and teens, you spend the rest of your life chasing the dream. She may be onto something here.

When I was little, holidays were celebrated, but not excessively so. I could always count on getting a few things that I really wanted. We had cookies, and a Christmas dinner, but nothing over the top. I remember feeling happy and loved. As the person in charge of holidays while Katie was growing up, I tried to to the same. I must have done that well, because Katie has mostly happy memories about Christmas, and for that matter, all holidays.

Because I was the one in charge of holidays, I got to do what I wanted. That may be the key to having good ones. I took great pleasure in cleaning the house and setting up the decorations. Aside from arguments about lights and the excruciating process of watching the ex pick out a tree (we solved that one by going artificial), I was free to pick and choose the rituals I enjoyed (midnight mass? No thanks. Waiting until after breakfast to open presents? Nope.) I continued lots of traditions long past their childhood origins and my divorce simply because I liked them. Katie enjoyed the fruits of my labor, but part of that was I didn’t make her do them.

The onset of Lyme brought about the biggest changes in my celebrations since my twenties, when I moved out and set up my own household. Fortunately for me, those years dovetailed with years that Katie worked every holiday. Kennels never shut down. Dogs need to be fed, medicines given, and kennels cleaned. Katie volunteered to work those days and we adjusted to my being ill and her working holidays. The first year after I was diagnosed, I spent Thanksgiving in my pajamas and robe, too sick to go anywhere, cook, or even care. I made Thanksgiving dinner a week after Thanksgiving, and it tasted exactly the same as if I had made it on Thanksgiving Day.

That year, we had Christmas two days before. I managed to get up the Christmas tree and wreath, but it certainly wasn’t a typical Christmas. Once again, the presents brought as much joy as if we had opened them Christmas mornings. Not having up all the decorations didn’t diminish the joy of seeing the Christmas tree lights and the wreath on the door through the season. It was a revelation. After that, we just rolled with it. A few years there were very few presents, just because it was too much for me to shop and wrap,. Instead of being sad or depressed, I found I liked the freedom. To be able to watch movies in my jammies and not worry about pleasing anyone but me was exactly what I needed when I was so sick.

Now I can enjoy Christmas however it turns out. I am very fortunate to have a family that wholeheartedly endorses this. Dad doesn’t care for any holidays, including his birthday. He suffers through them to make the people around him happy. There is a place for this, just as there is a place for respecting his wishes. If someone close to me really loved celebrating July Fourth, I’d make potato salad, deviled eggs, and ham and enjoy doing so.  I’d go see fireworks and get a thrill out of seeing them. On Halloween, I’d happily decorate the porch and hand out candy. I wouldn’t go to church for Easter or any holiday, but you get my drift.

Since Lyme, I’ve come to embrace my non-holidays. I feel positively smug when I hear how exhausted people are from endless rounds of shopping, parties, and family obligations. If you love doing everything and everybody’s happy in your world around the holidays, good on you. Enjoy them and recognize that there are lots of people who are perfectly happy NOT doing all those things. Katie, Dad and I give each other things all year long. We go out to eat when we feel like it, and I’ll cook a nice dinner whenever I want to.  And please, when someone (ME!) tells you something doesn’t bother them, try to believe them.

 

 

 

 

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