The Solitude of the Word

This is my desk today. Exactly as I found it this morning.

My grandkids love to come in my office when they come over. The room is well loved and well used.

I’ve had two different grandchildren for overnights this week and a cheesecake to bake for the birthday of the third so I haven’t yet picked up from the love it’s been shown.

My four-year-old granddaughter keeps a treasure box in here filled with all kinds of odd things she loves to play with. She also loves for us to play with my treasures.

When I’m in here to write, though, it’s just me and my thoughts.

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As a youngster, I was not lacking in imagination. Although I may have seemed shy sometimes, I was actually (and still am) an introvert and a bit of a loner.

I’ve lived a great deal of time in my own head with a brain that seems to need all the details about anything before I can absorb and use the information.

I have a need to break things down, examine, understand meaning beyond the obvious.

I love to read (yet another solitary activity). The books I enjoy the most are ones I feel I’ve learned something from, books that make me grow as a human being, books that expand my point of view, books that touch my heart.

All these things live in my head, so when I sit down to write, I look at the tapestry that’s been created in my mind and pick a thread to follow.

Some threads lead me outside into nature. Some lead to almost forgotten memories. Some of them lead me home.

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Writing is such a solitary adventure and I love the solitude of it, but after following a thread and putting it on paper the best part happens. When I share where I’ve traveled with all of you.

I have found that even the most personal stories–maybe especially the most personal stories–have a universal quality I am hard pressed to explain.

Maybe it’s because we’ve all lost someone dear to us.

We’ve all made mistakes.

We’ve all been in love (whether we let the other person in on it or not).

We all want to be loved and accepted for who we are.

We’re all human.

Word by solitary word I share my memories, my feelings, my experiences, my life, my heart, in hopes that someone out there will be encouraged to see things from a different perspective, learn from my mistakes, appreciate what they have, share themselves with others, love themselves for who they are, or maybe even begin to discover who they are.

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This is also where I figure out who I am, what I believe, how I want to live my life. You think I’d know all of that by now, but I don’t.

Some things are constant–like love–but the world keeps changing.

People come into your life and people leave.

New knowledge comes to light.

And so, in this quiet room, on any given quiet evening, I pour my heart out onto a piece of paper hoping to see my true self there and then hoping someone somewhere will read it and see a piece of themselves reflecting back.

~~~