The Gift of Space, Time & Solitude

Since I'd elected not to attend any of the orientation or meet-and-greet sessions at my writers’ retreat this weekend, when I finally decided—three-fourths of the way in—to attend a scheduled Q&A session, I happened upon an empty meeting room. The group had apparently changed the schedule at some point, and I'd had no way of knowing. A blessing in disguise, though?

I ended up sitting alone in the pale pink-walled reading room of the café and artists’ studio at Scarritt-Bennett, which is a beautiful old campus nestled smack dab in the middle of Nashville. In the middle of a city blanketed with friends and acquaintances and people I recognize around almost every corner. But there, in that solitary space, I was alone and anonymous.

Away from my computer but still inclined to write, here is what I recorded in my notebook as I sat in that space:

A man is playing piano in the next room. Just as I was sketching out the last five chapters of my book, the music started and my eyes welled with tears. Such a perfect sound, the piano played well.

I feel God in here today.

I just stood at the front window for a few minutes, holding my white coffee mug with both hands, looking out at the old stone and brick buildings across the way, the hand-painted multi-colored rocking chairs on the front porch just outside the window and at the bright crimson berries covering the shrub just beyond. The sky above is the lightest of blues, and suspended in it is a bright white sun.
The air is cold. But clean. Crisp.

And there is solitude. A solitude I embrace despite the occasional discomfort.

At times I am tempted to run to my car, drive straight home to Beckett, lift him from his nap and hold him tight for the remainder of the day.

But I stay. I feel the gift of this solitude and this time and space in which to write. It is a gift from God. Supported by Matt. Made possible by our moms (who chipped in for the registration fee as an early Christmas surprise). And today I was bolstered by words from my dad, in a simple text message that said “You were born to write.”

I don’t know if that is true, but I do know I’d not feel fully alive if I didn’t write. So that’s why I’ve locked myself up in a 10’ x 10’ room with nothing but a bed, desk and computer. I’ve got to finish this book. And I hope I get to say that about another book and another. But one at a time, right?

Yes, this one first. Now at a little over 26,000 words. A leap from the 9,000 I had in September. Eight of fifteen (I think) chapters complete. I may even finish this before my August deadline. I hope so. Then I’ll have more time to plan and save for that precious reward.

Mm hmm... I see London. I see France. Indeed, I do. I’ve got my mind set on you.

Here's wishing you the gift of space, time & solitude, to do with which whatever you need, whatever you dream.