Fortress of Solitude

Living alone suits me, I think.

For the past 30 years of my life I have always shared my space with someone else - family, dorm mates, a boyfriend, collegemates, former school mates, strangers - and now, for the first time in my life, I am living alone. And I have grown to love what I once feared.

There's something about unlocking the door and stepping into a space that is steeped in quiet. I stand at my doorway for a split second each time I come home and wait in delicious anticipation for the welcome solitude to rush forth. Lately the days have been long and exhausting, and returning home is like entering a sanctuary. But there are also days when the sanctuary seems too much of a fortress, and I wish that there was another warm body occupying the space.

This solitude allows me to think. I ponder while I cut up vegetables for dinner. I muse as I vaccum and dust. I reflect when I sit on the balcony, a book in one hand and a glass of white in the other. I wonder when I lie in bed looking out at the indigo sky and feeling the cool night breeze on my face. I retreat into myself in this space. And when I emerge, the world always looks like a darn good place! I am meditating without even realising it.

I love living alone for now. My only fear is that I may grow to love it too much if I'm not careful.