All by myself. For two weeks. Day and night. This is a novel experience, to say the very least. I have not spent more than 1 night alone in a house, since I was 17. It has been a phobia of mine, being alone at night, since I was a very small child, and has been the source of paralysing fear over the years. Just a year ago, I could not have contemplated the prospect of staying alone for two weeks, here or anywhere else. But now, I approach it with curiosity, almost anticipation. What will it reveal? What will it result in? What will it bring me?
Time seems to have slowed right down, the minutes of the day oozing slowly, like thick treacle. I feel like everything is holding its breath. Waiting. The house is remarkably quiet; even outside there is little noise. I thought this might trouble me, but I’m finding it restful. My soul is letting out a deep breath, and sinking into it.
Can you really ever be alone? As they say, wherever you go, there you are. I don’t think this is quite what that is supposed to mean, but it sums it up beautifully for me. The mistake I’ve been making all these years is not recognising that. Not understanding the truth of the words, I am enough. I can be my own company, my own comfort, my own cheer, my own courage, my own strength.
That’s not to say that I don’t need, or want, anyone or anything else. But when everything is stripped away, I am still there, underpinning my life. I have my own backbone, my own brain, my own heart. I am not everything. But I am enough.