There is a place where we can all go that allows for the silencing of the noise of ordinary life. A place where we each find a solitary pursuit of a moment; a goal, a dream fulfilled. I love the mornings because I wander and drink in every bit of new color, every drop of dew that heralds a new flower.
Writing is a solitary pursuit. How many times a day, when you are cooking, cleaning, dealing with the minutia, those around you in all good faith say, “What can I do to help you?” and usually it is something as simple as “OK thanks, chop this, hold this, move that,” or whatever. Some pursuits, no one can help you with. When I sit down to write, no one else can lend a hand. There is nothing any other being can possibly add to my experience. It has to be all me.
Last night, Julia got up at midnight, put on her boots and went down to the barn to ride her horse in the light of the Super Moon. A perfect solitary pursuit, though a partner was necessary.
Small, memories each made of solitary moments.
As I drove back from my kayak trip, I passed a man in a field. He was painting, his easel pointed toward the mountains in a July field of stubble. I turned around, introduced myself and apologized for interrupting his solitude. clumsily, I handed him my card, and asked if I might photograph him for this post. He introduced himself, David Dodge, and joked, “I might break the camera!” and I shot his view of the mountains. “How long have you been here today?” I asked. “Since Noon, I finished on small work already, this is my second. The light keeps changing.” he replied.
“What’s your blog about? he asked, squinting at my business card. “Reinventing oneself.” I replied. “We all should do that on a regular basis.” was his response.
Solitary pursuits. Music, art, or just relaxation we take the time in hope of rejuvenation, seeking the seeming most productive solitary pursuits.