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Drowning in Walden's
Pond: A Necessary Risk
by Lionel Fisher
(Excerpted from
CELEBRATING
TIME
ALONE: Stories of Splendid Solitude)
|
Women are much more ambivalent than men about being alone, says Ann
Gallagher, fifty-three, a librarian, writer, wife, and mother of four adult
children. An energetic, involved member of her community, Gallagher is one
of those compassionate, giving people whose permanent withdrawal from the
world would make it a poorer place. Yet she nurtures and protects her restorative
periods of solitude, retreating alone to the family’s coastal cottage
whenever her active personal and professional life permits. "Solitude is a huge, ambivalent topic for women," she remarks. "It’s why so many books on this hypnotic subject have been written by us. Most women admire other women who venture off on their own, but they’d never do it themselves. Or even admit to a desire to do so. I say this from experience." Her work, activities, and involvements are a joy, assures Gallagher, but only when they’re balanced by her time away—time she prefers to spend entirely by herself. Many of her friends, she reveals, have expressed grudging admiration for her propensity for going off alone, while at the same time questioning, "Aren’t you afraid?" "Don’t you get lonely?" "They remind me of the terrors that await The Woman Alone," she says, amusement creasing her pleasant features. "Violence. Rape. Blown fuses. Mechanical breakdowns on dark, rural roads." Gallagher’s grin spreads as she recites their litany of potential woes awaiting the woman alone: "Snow. Sleet. Floods. Other natural disasters. Power outages. Broken bones. No phone in case of any of the above. Worse, no phone at all. ‘What do you do at the beach by yourself?’ they ask, the question invariably posed with concern and furrowed brow. Eyes roll when I answer, ‘I stare a lot.’ ‘At what?’ they ask with nervous laughter. ‘Into space,’ I tell them truthfully. ‘At the ocean. At the mountains. In between, I walk. And I stare some more.’" "If instead I say, ‘Oh, I write,’ which is also true, although staring and walking always come first, my friends nod, relieved. ‘Ah, yes, of course, she writes when she’s alone.’ And that makes it almost all right, not quite so crazy-seeming." But reminders of The Terrors always follow, Gallagher says: "Darkness. Sleeping alone. Old door locks. Sounds of the fishermen’s voices at 5:00 A.M. The slam of their pickup truck doors. No shades on the windows. The quiet. Nothing to do..." We’ve lost sight of the individual, laments author Hal Borland: "Everything from singing to games, from travel to nature-watching has become a group activity. The person who wants to do anything alone, even just sit and think, has to fight off all the organizers." As a child of twelve growing up in Southern Oregon, Gallagher relates, she left her house one morning to walk into town. " ‘You’re going into town alone?’ my mother asked me in consternation. When I said yes, she told me that if people saw me wandering by myself, they’d say, ‘That girl must not have any friends.’" "The words struck me like a brick: That girl doesn’t have any friends! "My mother’s tone suggested this was a BAD thing to do: go around alone. Worse, a BAD thing to be: A girl without friends. We’d just moved into town," Gallagher continues, no longer smiling, "and the truth is there hadn’t been enough time to make any friends, especially for a gawky preteen girl. Twelve is such a pivotal age for children, girls in particular, and for years afterwards I’d hear my mother’s voice when I walked alone: People will think you have no friends." Gallagher gives a hearty laugh, but sadness lingers in her face. "At fifty-three," she says softly, "I’d say, let ’em! But for a girl of twelve..." She doesn’t finish the sentence, lost in her thoughts. "We yearn for Walden Pond," cautions writer Ted Morgan, "and forget that one can drown in Walden Pond." Or on the edge of an ocean, without ever setting foot in the water, as I feared I would when I moved to the beach. It seems such a formidable feat, being alone, because society bludgeons into our collective consciousness that no man or woman is an island, that a solitary existence is cruel and unusual punishment imposed by a vengeful god for unpardonable sins. Little wonder, then, that so many us can only bear to be by ourselves when we’re firmly connected to others, as if by a deep-sea diver’s lifeline or in a sturdy shark cage, capable of being hoisted out of harm’s way. Only when we’re securely tethered, assured that we’re fully protected and can quickly pull ourselves back up to safety, are we willing to descend into the murky depths of ourselves. "We must relearn to be alone," exhorts Anne Morrow Lindbergh in her inspirational book, Gift from the Sea. "Instead of planting our solitude with dream blossoms, we choke the space with continuous music, chatter, and companionship to which we do not even listen. It is simply there to fill the vacuum." "We can’t stand the silence," said Agnes de Mille, "because silence includes thinking. And if we thought, we would have to face ourselves." Let us learn, then, from those in search of what they have not been able to find and hold in the press of humanity around them: peace of mind, gentleness of heart, calmness of spirit, daily joy. Those who are mastering the art of flying solo and soaring to their highest human potential. Who have come to understand that to know and to love and to be of value to others, they first must know and love and value themselves; that to find their way in the world, they have to start by finding themselves. "Before we can surrender ourselves we must become ourselves," as Thomas Merton pointed out. "For no one can give up what he does not possess." This article is excerpted from Lionel Fisher’s new book, Celebrating Time Alone: Stories of Splendid Solitude (Beyond Words Publishing, Spring 2001), which records the emotional and spiritual triumphs of men and women who have found amazing grace alone. At a time when more of us than ever are living alone—an estimated 40 million Americans at the turn of the century—we continue to seek our happiness and fulfillment, our answers, our very identity in others, points out the author. His book affirms that it’s all right to be alone, to want to be alone, even to be lonely at times because the rewards of solitude can make the deprivations so worthwhile. Fisher, who also writes a self-syndicated newspaper column,"SINGLES SCENE: The Art of Being Alone," invites you to share your thoughts and experiences on celebrating time alone. Reach him at beachauthor@hotmail.com. © 2001 Lionel L. Fisher. Reprinted with permission of author |
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