Solitude
My morning routine is pretty consistent from day to day. On most weekdays I get up at 4:50am to row; on weekends I usually sleep in. Either way, I am ready for a shower around 7:15am, after which I have my breakfast of oatmeal and coffee while I read a few news items. By 8am or so I finish breakfast, refill my coffee and settle into the couch so that I can see out the window, and read a book for 15-30 minutes. All of this happens before Kristin is out of bed, so the house is quiet except for various unobtrusive background noises. For all intents and purposes, I am alone.
After reading I will often just put the book down and gaze out the window, letting my mind wander. This is an exceptionally relaxing and pleasant state of being. No substantive interruptions but those of my own mind, which is free to wander gently around the various thoughts that come and go. Thoughts flow both passively and actively; some come to mind without effort, others are willed into existence. This might be compared to a walk in the woods, where I am passively conscious of rocks, trees, animals and such as I pass them by, but I might also actively pause to more closely inspect something interesting such as a cool bug, a sparkly rock, or a gopher hole.
My thoughts sometimes return to Tonopah, Nevada, where Kristin and I stayed on forest service land in the camper for a few days last summer. This is a place where it would be hard not to experience solitude. In its desolation and grand views I found great peace. Tonopah itself, though having some points of interest, is not otherwise particularly attractive; but the surrounding landscape is starkly beautiful and begs one to simply exist within it, in solitude. This I did, to the extent that I could.
With my almost immediate immersion into the fascism-fighting scene here when we (re)arrived in Iowa City, I've not experienced a lot of solitude. I've been busy. It is all too easy to fall into a daily busy-ness that makes it difficult or impossible to experience solitude. But my morning routine, which has emerged over the past couple months, is something I enjoy, almost to the point of craving. I've been making it a point to take that time to rejuvenate, but I've also realized that it's not enough. I have been contemplating a return to the Appalachian Trail next year, hiking solo. One reason this is appealing is that, like Tonopah, much of the trail also begs one to simply exist, in solitude, within and among the grand and beautiful surroundings. I need this.