#330: Standing Alone
I have a book called 'The Lost Art of Reading Nature's Signs,' and it has sort of transformed the way I take walks. I've always loved venturing into the woods, but there's a new level of curiosity, excitement, and awe in knowing how to use the moss on trees to find 'North' or branch growth to anticipate wind patterns. Amanda's blog - while not totally related to reading nature's signs - sort of took this to the next level for me. It made me think about the powerful intuition that nature holds. And how I can use this, too, as a reminder to create time for noticing my own.
- Christina
Standing Alone
Lately, I've been trying to become more comfortable with being alone. It’s something I’m not particularly good at nor fond of. I've been fortunate to have amazing friends, caring sisters, trusting roommates and incredible significant others to walk through life with for many seasons at a time. I've had the privilege of being in lines of work that have allowed me plenty of opportunity to work directly alongside others as a close team. I've always loved to feel the joy that is togetherness. Though there is so much value in experiencing that solidarity, I've also come to realize the importance of making time to be alone, too. And I don't just mean the literal part of being alone that is doing things without the presence of others. I mean truly finding the time and space to acknowledge introspective thoughts and find the connection with oneself on a deeper, soul-level. I've noticed lately how seldom I actually get to that place, as I am usually trying to "make the most" of my time throughout each of the days to the point that even if I am technically by myself, I don't feel it because I am still looking outward to my environment for some external escape or interest and attaching myself to that.
For example, usually before I even grab my coat or get the dog leashes on, I make sure I've located my AirPods; I want to be sure I can hit play on my podcast right as I step foot on the sidewalk. Or when I'm sitting on the train, I regularly find myself looking down at my phone so I can use the time to catch up on emails or texts. Or, before I even put my seatbelt on in the car, I am normally tapping into Spotify to queue up the playlist I want to listen to as I drive. Often at night, after I've lit my lavender-scented candle and have crawled into bed, my habit is to just reach for the novel on my nightstand without a moment's hesitation. And while there is nothing innately wrong with any of these rituals, nor will I ever totally stop doing them, I've wondered to myself, how often do I really just sit with my thoughts? How frequently do I pause to check in with my mental well-being or spiritual state? Or on how my physical body feels? When am I really getting the time to gauge if I'm happy, or in need of some change, or to notice a fresh curiosity brewing regarding what's next to come, or to ponder what goals or inspirations deserve a little more attention? In a fast-paced world that demands walking in just about every direction each day for other agendas, my guess is, not all too often.
I was reminded on my podcast last week that the reason trees drop their leaves in the wintertime is so they can put their energy and focus into conserving resources throughout the cold, dry season. They know to send signals to each leaf and tell them it's time to go, so that the tree can invest all its energy back into standing tall and sturdy on its own. If it didn't sometimes isolate by stripping itself entirely, it would never be able to stay healthy enough to welcome the leaves back to its branches again in spring. This notion made me think of how, although times of solitude can feel dark and gloomy and a bit like something is missing (those colorful leaves or the wonderful company of others), it is also essential to sometimes let go of everything so that energy can be directed to other essential places. And how that requires finding a balance. It involves knowing what to invest energy into at which time. Though I've felt the discomfort in the way that silence and seclusion can bring up challenging thoughts and emotions, ones that can become overwhelming when not being able to share them with others, I also know the benefits outweigh the costs in learning to sit with that discomfort. Perhaps this is because in doing so, it strengthens the muscle of knowing how to become more in-tune with myself and needs more often. So that I can give more to others in return.
I think of the long life span of trees and the reasoning for this longevity perhaps being their knowledge and understanding of what it takes to be strong and resilient throughout the bitter cold. It's the only way they can live and be strong enough to continue being the ongoing source of oxygen, shelter, wonder, and solace that they are for many other living things. And I think that's a wonderful phenomena to keep in mind... that it is beneficial to ensure there is some time spent in solitude. In this peaceful space, there can be more opportunity for introspection, to feel what it is that might be calling, to gain greater insight on the self, to hear what is lacking that I need to better tend to, or to simply have the quiet moment of stillness to soak in the various sources of sunlight in my life with deeper gratitude. In letting the outside world go and becoming more aware by breathing into all these elements, in providing my own soul the fuel it needs from time to time, I can grow stronger roots to myself and my values. And in feeling this alignment, be able to show up stronger for others too.
PS - Hope you enjoy these tree photographs below taken by my sister Christina, one of my fellow tree huggers. And I mean that phrase perhaps quite literally. She loves and appreciates them more than anyone I know.
