Stepping out of a life that has become your normal is always a jolting experience. You almost instantly realize all the basic routines and rituals of day-to-day living that you’ve taken for granted. On a deeper level, you physically leave your people, your support network and the relationships that bring you meaning and significance.
One of Angie’s routines in Wausau was teaching yoga on Sunday mornings. So this past Sunday morning we did some yoga poolside, Angie instructing as the pair of us moved and found breath. Angie prompted to think of a word to serve as a mantra that would set the tone for the week. As I gazed out on the gorgeous Grenadian landscape before me, with its mountainous peaks and valleys, all I could think of was the song, “Lonesome Valley,” from the movie, O Brother, Where are Thou?. In low and rolling voices, The Fairfield Four sing:
You got to go to the lonesome valley
You got to go there by yourself
Nobody else can go for you
You got to go there by yourself
This, of course, is a song about death. “Death” — maybe not the best choice for a mantra. But as we continued to do yoga the song’s refrain played out over and over again in my head: you got to go there by yourself. To be clear, I know that I’m not here by myself. I am married after all and I live with Angie in this new place. But the demands of medical school are intense, and the reality is that the past few weeks I’ve spent much of my time alone while Angie is in class or studying. And Grenada is, in fact, and island, the perfect symbol of how I’ve been feeling: isolated and alone.
But I embrace my solitude for the time its mine to bear.I think that being alone is especially beneficial during times like this when you need to adapt to an unfamiliar environment and new community of people. To be alone heightens your senses, allowing you to more acutely observe all that’s going on around you and inside of you. There’s less conversation filling your thoughts and fewer distractions vying for your attention. Solitude affords you the space you need to grow and acclimate. As an introvert, I benefit from my seasons of solitude and even look forward to them.
Music is a great friend to me when solitude loses its luster and fades to loneliness. I like how Jeff Tweedy describes this impact of music in his book, World Within a Song:
Almost all songs function in a way that consoles the listener with a brief but vital companionship. In essence taking the place of another human in the room — another consciousness filling the void of isolation. It’s a tender relationship regardless of a song’s musical nature. From the bleakest black metal to the sweetest pop confection. The power to embrace the lonely is always at the heart of the bargain.
Adjusting to a new life requires patience. Patience and faith that Angie and I will find our people here, and also meaningful moments with one another. Life gets so much more messy and beautiful when you occupy space with others in an intentional way. Real meaning, I believe, is created in community, when the barriers come down and you see people for who they are and they see you. At some point you need to take the risks and get in the game. Engage with life. As Lucy puts it, you need involvement.
Being alone and being in community both inspire growth in their own way. I know that next week is a new week and one that will bring a new mantra.
