Yesterday I was alone for the round trip commute, which totaled about 2 hours.
I took a shower, and that was the extent of my alone time yesterday outside of driving in my car, and going to bed. Nearly everyday resembles that.
Sometimes when I open at work, I will go in a little bit early just to sit and gather myself for the day, in the building without anyone there pestering me for answers to questions that they should already know the answers to, or being available to listen to anything that they might need to complain about.
The quiet parts of the day are the most golden.
It has been increasingly more difficult to pursue, and settle into those moments when I am not being pulled into a multitude of directions or distractions. This morning I woke up late for church. I scrambled to pull myself together and grab my stuff to get out the door in under 10 minutes. In my drive north towards Waynesboro I thought about how much I just wanted to keep driving towards the ocean. To not stop. Just to keep driving. Because somehow the idea that I could arrive on the edge of the beach would mean that I'd be able to still myself and quiet myself enough to enjoy it, it convinced me that church would be there next Sunday. However, common sense alerted me and my practical thinking took over. a) I did not have my bathing suit b) traffic in VA Beach sucks c) I knew that to justify driving that far, I'd have to be productive my my drive thru of Richmond, and I wasn't prepared. Church won. Well. Actually, Jesus did.
I ran a few errands and I came home. To an empty house. Kristyn is gone for a few days, and Krystal is out for the afternoon. With the Ocean still heavy on my mind I went to the river. It was like the 4th of July. It was packed. My impatience won out on the afternoon and I returned home. Still, an empty house.
In the stillness I admit I find myself overwhelmed by all that I have to do, want to do, should do, will be doing... all sorts of 'doing'. I also struggle with addressing that letter I have to write- that's been weeks in the making, that I am only able to begin with "I'm sorry", because I know that what I will have to say will hurt. I think about the boxes that have been packed before, and will need to be packed again in a few short weeks. I think about the goodbyes and hellos and the coming and the goings. And then back again to the emotional choices, crossroads, and issues that in the busyness, and in the constant social and work stimulation I have not the chance to address, or act on what I've decided. So instead the pause button remains engaged and the letter is not written, that conversation does not take place, that date not yet coordinated.
The alone time today is good.
It's not filled with the chatter of friends catching up, even though it should.
It's not filled with tasks and things to do that are complete, though it needs to.
It's not filled with banter, laughter, or conversation, though the silence in its place... is good.
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