Controlled Loneliness
The doctor called it controlled loneliness. I just wanted to live in a lighthouse and write all day. The craven peace which comes from having no plans and all day to do them. The calm which comes from the silence of a cold early morning. A mind undisturbed by the cacophony of notification. A place where real work can get done. The work I have always needed to feel most alive. Both quiet within me and around me. In here by the fireplace. A space which gives life, not takes it. Not a spiritual place but still a space of ritual. A time where the world wakes up but you’ve already consumed a hundred pages in the armchair by the window. A place where you can still hear the waves over the traffic. A place free of the demands of other people. A place between appointments. Everything unanswered. Somewhen to sit in the work. A place of the perfect uncooling cup of piping hot coffee and dew on the windows. Mornings where the wind silences itself in deference to the typing. A place to begin. An invocation for a day. Alone and not happy but not unhappy about it. A place to stare out the window. A place to remember other windows and other staring. Sometimes nothing comes. Sometimes it all comes at once. Practice. Persevere. Crack it open. Get out of bed. Go that little bit further out into the water. Enjoy the silence. Do the work.
