The Hermit
There is a hermit, alive and well, residing in my psyche. Growing up in a nuclear family of 10, plus my grandmother and an aunt and uncle, plus various and sundry other folks that we included on a regular basis, didn't allow anything remotely resembling "alone time" – for anyone.
When I was 16, we moved into a much larger home in the middle of a neighborhood where birth control was obviously unknown – kids everywhere. Being the eldest, I was granted the luxury of having my very own room – all to myself. I was in heaven and ferociously guarded access to My Room. I spent a lot of time in My Room – adjusting to 'space' with no one in it but me. Wondrous!
The pattern remains true today. After a training, where I am embodying transparency to the best of my ability – present to myself, to everyone else and to the mystery of each moment – I retreat into my seat on the airplane. An invisible, but obvious sign drops between me and my seatmates, which says, "Leave me alone!" My Hermit is requiring space, internal stillness.
I wonder, with our lives so crowded and fast-paced, if the Hermit in us has much breath.
Interesting … this was the subject of a discussion today. My granddaughter’s friend likes her alone time, and the mother was apologizing for that. I told her that everyone in the family I grew up with needed their alone time, and we’d each figured out early how to create that, even in a crowded house, school, church, wherever.
For me, my hermit doesn’t have breath only when I don’t honor whatever that is in my body that needs to regroup — whether it’s to be apart for a while or whether it’s to be with others. I require both for self-maintenance.
While many of our classmates picked on me – she showed me friendship.