How I Found Sacred Solitude
Here I am. Looking out into a lush, unimaginably green forest, feeling a soft breeze kiss my face, and listening to a chorus of birds as they send morning sounds across the treetops. I welcome the second day of a little solo getaway. I chose to close my trip to visit a dear friend in British Columbia with two nights of solitude. It was important to me that I carve out this time and space. To nurture my ability to be alone; something I’ve done in the past but haven’t in some time.
Solitude.
I prefer this word over ‘being alone’. There’s something deeper to it — something that reveals it’s powerful, wisdom-giving ways. I remember as a teenager, the thought of eating by myself, stepping into a shop on my own, or asking strangers for help was crippling. Being around others felt far safer. I took comfort in knowing that my actions were protected by the unity between myself and those I was with.
It wasn’t until moving to Toronto for University, when I first began to dip my toes into pools of solitude. I surprised myself by how much I welcomed the quiet time with my own thoughts and the chances I had to move through my day on my own terms. I would choose a Saturday or Sunday to venture out into Toronto by myself. Being north of the city at school didn’t allow for much time to get to know my new home. It wasn’t until third and fourth year when I would take advantage of these mini escapes. I’d take the subway down to a station that I vaguely recognized and would emerge to walk around for hours. I’d come across markets, festivals, and beautiful neighbourhoods. I took so much pleasure in the sweet sensation of digesting all I was seeing without the constant monologue between myself and a companion. It was freeing.
After graduation, I began to dig for a bigger experience. I had always thought of going to Greece — growing up watching The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants had planted that seed in my mind and I couldn’t resist the idea that I too would experience this place. Through my research, I found a yoga retreat experience called Silver Island. It would be one week, hosted on a 60 acre island, just myself among 9 other guests. Everything, from the moment I stepped into departures, to the moment we landed back in Toronto a week later, I was responsible for my experience, for my safety, for my adventure. It was magical to say the least. I remember grappling with the sometimes loneliness that washed over me — seeing many of the other guests coupled off with the loved ones they had travelled there with. But in retrospect, that grappling was the very thing that taught me so much. It gave me time to come back to myself. To just be.
Now, years later, I’ve stolen a few days to experience that feeling again. The view that I described earlier can be seen from the unexplainably perfect log cabin, built up on risers and perched high among the trees here on Bowen Island, BC. I made my way over here early yesterday morning so that I could spend the first half of my day hiking. I had to carry everything I brought with me (this laptop included), which contributed to the caked sweat on my tank top and the gentle soreness in my shoulders. I opted for a three hour walk that loops a lake. I’ve never hiked alone before this — except for the odd woodsy walk in High Park. Even with the knowing that there are no predators on Bowen, I still caught myself darting to look here and there when I heard a noise among the thick ferns. It felt really good to challenge myself like this. To test my trust in all of the forces that I know protect me wherever I am.
Upon arriving to this Airbnb, I was completely struck by it. I feel as though I’ve manifested this in my mind and it’s the exact thing I had hoped it would be. Warm coloured wood, a simple kitchen (with a supply of fresh eggs from the coop), and a loft-style bedroom with the most heaven-on-a-cloud bed I’ve ever slept in. There is a perfectly still and quiet yoga studio that I’m able to use at any time and a short trail that leads up to a sunset lookout.
I’ve done my best to keep my phone in the other room and just enjoy each simple step of the evening and morning. Even this act of sitting and writing feels like the most luxurious thing. I’ve tried all the tea, eaten a nourishing and fresh salad, read almost half of Wild (a re-read that is just too perfect for this kind of trip), and passed hours lazily on the beach. The salty air is healing, the bird sound and forest quiet is invigorating, and the way in which I can seemingly see forever into the distance is making me feel that small way you feel when you’re surrounded by the biggest nature.
Solitude.
My favourite way to reset and come back to myself. Finding it in subtle and enormous ways to always look after my heart and my relationship with me. Time spent like this is never wasted. It’s the very necessary quiet that we rarely find in our daily lives.
Go out and create that quiet for yourself.
B
