My husband works “away” ( in another part of the state ) so I am accustomed to chunks of solitude during the week, enjoying it as a balance to my other-focused weekends with him, and the enjoyment of companionship as we accomplish the chores and entertainments of married life. Just now, by contrast, my husband is out of the country for five weeks, so I am largely alone, with only intermittent company at home from my stepson, or when I venture out to town for appointments and some socializing. I have previously experienced several equally long, or longer, periods alone as this trip is my husband’s fourth in the past six years. And there have been substantial periods of solitude earlier in my life (before this marriage). I am therefore very clear on the difference between being alone and being lonely. I am fortunate to be able to say I usually experience the former, only very rarely the latter.
Today is qualitatively different, in that I am constrained to solitude by a winter-weather triggered dip in health. It is in the nature of the autoimmune disorder I live with, that a sequence of similar weather days allows me to have energy to accomplish, while a shift from sun to clouds and back again to sun results in energy depletion often accompanied by a lowering attitude that begs for the distraction of company to keep it in check. Coming off several days of promise-of-spring weather that let me forget my health constraints, I am restless and edgy today, minding my decreased capacity to do, rather than enjoying an opportunity to just be.The whining child in me is demanding why this dip had to occur, yet again, despite all that I have done to counteract the barometer body component of my disorder. The annoyed parent tells the child to stop complaining, while the adult feels frustrated at having to mediate yet another silly emotional dispute that is nothing more than misdirected attention.
Attention given to how I benefit from peace without the distracting presence of others, to contemplate the multiplicity of reasons I have to be grateful.
Attention to the reading (about how to deeply connect with others) that is due for a study group I participate in.
Attention to listening for the inner voice of spirit that is best heard when there is minimal outer distraction.
Attention to putting my current state of being into words, here, where I can see and hear and reflect on them better than when they are merely random thoughts floating in my head.
How many of us, I wonder, use blog posts to hear ourselves think? And feel grateful when the expressed words resonate with at least a few readers who may from time to time encounter the same conundrums? I wonder, do we come to the same conclusions? Hard to tell in this format that is largely disconnected from the feedback that constitutes a conversation.
For now, I choose to stay focused on using my alone time productively (for me) and continuing to learn ways to both conserve my energy and boost it without having to turn to an adrenaline fueled rush of stress to push through future demanding days. Which means unlearning the routines that have defined much of my life, replacing them with what I am promised is a much easier path of pausing, relaxing, focusing inward, and listening to the softly voiced instructions which, when followed, allow me to accomplish all that needs doing, easily and without pain. I suspect I may have more to say on this topic, as I practice a way of being rather than doing. Meanwhile, in the present moment, it is time to feed my chickens and collect eggs – yes midwinter the hens are, most unusually, laying well.
One more reason for gratitude.

The Cruelest Month
March 13, 2024March is the cruelest month. Despite years of knowing it is full of false promises of spring followed by bitter cold, often heavy wet dumps of snow, and chilling winds, I am unable to find balance as the temperatures swing from highs of mid sixties to lows in the teens and clouds chase away early morning sun even before I get out to feed the chickens. The persistently inconsistent weather has pushed the replacing of my septic system back and back and back again, as four consecutive days of dry weather are needed to do the work – and the delivery driver bringing the new tank has been unavailable twice, in the only weeks when those four days could be predicted. A lesson in patience that I don’t really need, after the past 9 months of being patient with an untimely contractor restoring my home from its damage in last May’s wildfire.
But maybe I should call May the cruelest month, as the Hermit’s Peak/Calf Canyon fire catastrophe of 2022 that smoked but didn’t burn me, and the 2023 Las Tusas fire that destroyed chunks of my property and damaged the house both occurred in early May. This year’s May should not be a threat, as there is not enough vegetation left to feed another wildfire. Not that insurance companies recognize that it is quite safe to insure my neighborhood now… but that’s a topic for another day.
Maybe it’s November that is cruel, forcing us out of daylight saving time and back into darkness at the end of the workday, just when we most need a bit of extra daylight to shop in preparation for the winter holidays?
No, I’ll stay with March. The hope-followed-by-disillusion cycle occurs annually and repetitively throughout the month, aggravating my already unpredictable ability to function on any given day due to an autoimmune triggered depletion of energy.
Yes, I hear you. Appreciating the immediate present is a way to cope. Detach from planning, go with the flow, all those fine sounding suggestions that do sometimes help. They don’t produce a new homeowner’s insurance policy that depends on completed restoration of the property that depends on consistent enough weather to do the exterior finishing work.
April, please hurry up and get here! Thank you.
Tags: lessons, My Life, New Mexico spring, uncertainty, weather
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