Solitude

Hello! Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Brandt. I am your friend Abigael’s new husband, and I hope to post some thoughts here on her blog occasionally.

A few weeks after marriage may seem an unlikely time for me to be writing about solitude. Stick with me. I believe that solitude touches us all, and though some of what I write is unique to me and personal, that is the only way I can hope to relate to you, the person reading.

Some people pursue solitude on mountaintops or by the ocean’s shore. Some seek it in books, art, or music. Some need only the power of their intellect or imagination.

There is solitude, and there is loneliness. The two are intertwined. Solitude is often experienced by choice, loneliness of necessity. One can give way to the other. Certain situations evoke feelings of solitude in some people and loneliness in others. A hair’s breadth separates the two experiences. Yet, while even extroverts can find solitude delightful, we all feel loneliness as one of the bitterest scourges that can overtake us. What, after all, was the thorny crown on all Job’s painful sufferings? His friends’ rejection when they turned against him.

As the youngest by nearly a dozen years of the three boys born to my parents, I grew up mostly on my own, and felt most comfortable with my own company, something I share with Abigael, who is an only child. Books were my solace. As a single man, I sometimes felt lonely. I desired the presence and conversation, and even the touch, of my friends and family, but I also felt awkward about that need, and sometimes ashamed. These conflicting emotions, combining with life circumstances, began to cause mounting confusion and emotional pain, and I chose to seek outside help in processing them. As I put more of myself into closer connections with more people, I was surprised to find my need and capacity for healthy solitude growing proportionately. As I experienced the acceptance of others, I found grace in the solitude of my own heart to be honest with myself and accept myself. Because I was more secure in my own identity, I became more open to learning from others. I learned to better accept others in their diversity and contradictions. I found myself engaging more fully with literature and art. I had more things to talk about with God.

Just as much as safe, welcoming, and truthful friends foster a healthy authenticity in me, so self-acceptance conditions me to receive others’ acceptance and come to terms with their varying levels of giving and differing opinions. A tree needs light and water to grow, but it must put out its branches in search of the light, and send down its roots toward the deep waters: its growth increases its capacity to receive, as well as its ability to survive deficiency and drought. Yet here is a great difference; for while a tree must praise God by its very being, a human being, conscious of his own self, might forget the Source of life. In the starkness of my own solitude, I may hear God speak clearest, or I may focus on the ‘I’. In the absence of my peers, I can sit alone, trembling or ashamed, in the judgment seat, or I can recognize the wise, non-comparing love of the Father, who will in His good time grant me the fruit of knowledge, and make me one with all in Christ, Who is in all.

I think the creative part of me will always love solitude. Yet I am an imperfect human being, and I will always find it a challenge to experience solitude with peace and embody it beneficially. Our Lord went into a mountain apart to pray; He wept at Lazarus’ death. If He needed solitude that He might have more perfect conversation with His Father, how much more do I? Only let me employ my solitude as rightly as He employed His. If grief and loneliness could move such depths in Him, might they not overthrow me? Only let me feel as deeply and purely as He did.

To enter marriage is to learn a new mode of being. Abigael is now my constant companion, and ours is likely the closest relationship I will ever experience in my adult life. I’m thankful that she’s also my best friend. It takes time and intentional focus to build a relationship like that, while we’re simultaneously laying the foundations for a new home and life together. Right now, I don’t struggle much with loneliness. Abigael’s presence during a morning walk or a quiet evening at home is sufficient company, and yet as comfortable as solitude. Still, I would say this to my friends and family: each one of you has a unique place to fill in my life. It would be unfair to Abigael and unrealistic for myself to expect her to fill all of your places as well as her own. So—Thank You—to each of you for your continued support. I do not take you for granted.

In the same way as I still need you, I still need solitude; or, when life gets busy, as life does, I need, at the very least, the truths that solitude has taught me. For right now, this simple plan for a monthly reading through the Psalms provides me with quiet moments of structure and spiritual depth most mornings and evenings. https://www.churchofengland.org/prayer-and-worship/worship-texts-and-resources/book-common-prayer/psalter My seven or eight daily driving hours offer some opportunities for thinking and for absorbing thoughtful material: opportunities of which I avail myself with greater or lesser success, depending on the day. And finally, when I think of solitude, I always think of author Henri Nouwen, whose book Reaching Out addresses all these issues in affecting, effectual terms. I will conclude this post, then, with a sonnet that I have inscribed to him.

In recognition of Henri Nouwen

The heart’s no prison, but it keeps its door:

I have sought long an entrance to my own,

Begging a word within (for I am poor),

Only to see it open at the tone

Of some unwitting passerby or friend. 

The heart’s a worthy host, and full of stories;

‘Tis not withdrawn in truth, but holds all ends

And worlds from its conception; hopes all memories. 

The door-ward yet is servant to my need:

Need I must trust, and trusting, keep good faith;

Knocking, I’d stand with clear-eyed, steady heed, 

That with me peace, and counsel free of scathe,

And Love come in: companions able

For solitude and God at table.

Until next time—

Brandt Nightingale