Solitudinem …

for Knots in the String.

This week, I came across the most curious term – alonement.

Loneliness - Journal prompt Monday

Really? Alonement? It sounds like some trendy, hip word that is designed to replace solitude.

Immediately I looked up solitude on https://www.etymonline.com/

"state of being alone, remoteness from society," mid-14c., from Old French solitude "loneliness" (14c.) and directly from Latin solitudinem (nominative solitudo) …

A man can be himself only so long as he is alone; ... if he does not love solitude, he will not love freedom; for it is only when he is alone that he is really free. [Schopenhauer, "The World as Will and Idea," 1818]

Since the 14^th-19^th centuries, I think solitude has secured a gentler meaning, a desirous state. Especially in this high voltage world we inhabit, where retreating and observing peace are often necessary.

There are no entries for alonement however. Alonement is just another 21^st century buzzword for ‘being alone’. There are plenty of Google entries for alonement since the inventor published a book on the value of being alone. This article https://www.glamourmagazine.co.uk/article/alonement-francesca-specter-interview caught my eye, where the inventor of the word talked of how and why she ‘invented’ it.

'There was no word for it, the closest would be solitude but solitude is not a uniquely positive word. Alonement is in and of itself a word that means alone time is either a very joyful experience or a very fulfilling one or, in many occasions, it's both. It's alone time that you benefit from.”

I was surprised when the writer described solitude as not being uniquely positive or that one does not benefit from it. I would argue we choose to be solitary, we choose to have solitude. The very act of having that choice makes it a positive experience! Being solitary and indulging in solitude is, in my experience, always fulfilling and can be as joyful as we let it.

Solitude is a beautiful word – sonorous, almost sleepy, as though one could snuggle onto a window seat under a warm rug, padded behind with soft pillows, just daydreaming. Or sitting on a beach whilst the waves wash in and out, taking away regrets and washing in nothing but good things. Or in a forest, alone and forest bathing – the most perfect solitude one can imagine – bird call, the whiffle of breezes, the smell of soil and leaf and the knowledge that time is slowing.

I would call that perfection.

Doing:

Back into hospital for extra surgery and with a little vacuum pump as my new fashion statement as I walk around the hospital to get exercise. This time is so different. I am mobile, free to do what I want, I can move without pain, I can even go out for the day but it’s quite cold. Instead, I will use the solitude (when I’m not having obs done) to write. Two columns, (here’s one) and more of Act Three. So strange how the creativity bug works like a demon when I’m under the weather. As I’ve said a million times – for me, I’m sure its displacement.

Weather? Not conducive to anything. Misty grey mizzle and chilly, patches of blinding and brilliant sunshine that give one hope, which is swallowed by gloom again. Nevertheless, I convinced my surgeon not to operate last Friday and to allow me the weekend to go back to our cottage and mentally adjust to Phase Two.

The coast healed me as best it could in that short space of time. The seas were steel armoured, pocked and glinting meanly in pallid light and the cold southerly wind made a mockery of an already lined face. But the air – that champagne air – was manna from heaven and I sucked it in to the very bottom of my lungs as the Terrier and I negotiated the beach at my tortoise pace. The sand was packed hard on the first day, a blessing, but for the rest of the weekend and with a southerly swell working for the surfers, it became soft and difficult to negotiate with legs that occasionally felt like rubber.

As I packed to leave, I looked beyond the trees in the direction of the river and saw my Spirit Animal flying above the pines, poplars and eucalypts. The dove grey sea eagle with the white underbelly glided gracefully back and forth and I took it as a sign that all would be well.

My son’s Spirit Animal is a wedge-tailed eagle and on the day before he was to get the results of his next lung test, he was walking up the farm lane and one flew up from the ground, black and striking, with a wing-span to defy belief. It drifted lazily in front of him and flew away with effortless wing flaps on the updrafts of the steep hill. My son took it as a sign and sure enough, the next day his lung specialist told him his lung cysts were stable and his lung capacity fabulous (all that cross-country running!).

I wonder, do any of you have spirit animals? I always thought mine would be a dog but there’s something elemental and spiritual in a wild animal that I find difficult to explain. And I don’t know why mine is a sea eagle except that one seems to appear at times when it is needed for some intestinal (ha!) fortitude.

Watching: Bridgerton. Oh my god, so much frou-frou, fairy floss, froth and bubble and fun! I just sit mesmerised by the pastiche, groaning, laughing and interested in alternating swathes. Please, please please don't let folk think that this is real Regency. I'm sure many do! But how I love the fabrics, embroideries and appliqués. It's a stitcher's delight. My husband? He goes off to have a long bath!

Also binge-watched the new series of Wisting. Excellent crime series from Norway. Husband did not disappear to have a long bath!

I’ve written about solitude in the past. My feelings about it are obvious from the first word, so I won’t labour the point. I just feel that such a lovely word, such a divine state of being was given a little bit of bad press when ‘alonement’ was needlessly (IMO) created and I needed to defend solitude from my own point of view.

Music? This beautifully melodic piece. It sits well with solitude…

PS: Forgiveness please for pumping out two columns this week. The extra one to be delivered on Saturday is very special to me.