“I will go stale now. Alone.”
This is just to say (as the famous William Carlos Williams poem and recent meme for some reason begins) that I don’t have a proper newsletter for you this week. I’m getting myself together to go on a brief retreat, during which I expect to meditate, write, stare at a fire, drink some wine (but not too much), and possibly punch some pillows and scream.
Some major changes have been afoot in my life for some time, and getting space alone to process them and feel my feelings—particularly the ones I’d rather not inflict on other people—has been difficult. I find myself very lucky and very grateful that I have a wonderful friend who has a little place in New Hampshire that she likes to share with friends. Once I’ve packed up my clothes and some food and stuff, I’ll be driving the hour and a half alone, to go be alone for a few days. Alone.
It’s not that I particularly love being alone, although I grew up being alone a lot, and learned to love my own company. But I do find that if I don’t get enough time alone, I become someone I like a bit less. And while my preference is for untangling and processing my emotions with people, I also allow that sometimes, it’s important that I do some of it by myself, so that I can feel it all without worrying about hurting someone else.
This is not to say, at all, that I think my feelings are somehow harmful in and of themselves. Nor that I don’t have people who are very willing to sit with me in them. For that, I’m very grateful, too. It is only to say that sometimes, I’m the only person who can tell me what my feelings are about, and that I owe it to the people I love to know that.
And so: I’ll see you all next week, with something more substantial. Eat the plums that are in the icebox, loves.