Filling the Silence: Making Sense of the Dual Nature of Solitude

I've always been one for "Alone Time." I enjoy the opportunity to sit, walk, think, drink coffee, read and write on my own. In fact, it's probably the sort of restorative practice I should insist upon more than I do.

It was sort of "built into" my previous job, in my air travel around the state of Texas each month. I spent a good number of hours in airports and hotels by myself. Nowadays, with this new job that I love, there is no such thing as alone time. It's all about managing people and the community they make.

This evening my wife is happily indulging in a Zumba class with three girlfriends, and my sons are across the street, playing at their friend Dalton's house.

So I'm alone.

Don't get me wrong: I'm not a "loner" as such. Like many of us (I'm willing to bet) I both covet my time to myself while also being prone to loneliness. Maybe I've just described the human condition. I don't know.

This evening, as darkness descends on suburban Austin, Texas, the house is almost achingly silent, and it gives me a clawing sense of loss in my midsection. My dog comes to me, back end wagging behind her, and offers me her usual, undying love. Still too quiet, though. I try watching some obscure bowl game, presented by and named after a company I've never heard of. Having no affinity for or affiliation of any kind with either school, I switch over to a sitcom -- one of the "lovable buffoon married to the quick-as-a-whip wife" variety. This doesn't hold my interest either.

Now I write in my journal, listening to Kings of Leon and Michael Kiwanuka, trying to make sense of the dual nature of solitude. I know that soon my boys will burst into the house, and the decibel level will go up considerably. They'll start in with the "can we, can we, can we," and the conflicts will arise.

Or....I will do what my wife does so well. I will channel their energy and summon up my own, countering their provocations with humor. We will have SO MUCH FUN that they will say, "Daddy, you're the absolute best," when I tuck them in. And I'll say, "Oh please, it's what I do."

They will fall asleep, snug and exhausted from a good day of winter vacation, dreaming the dreams of happy children.

And I'll be alone again, happy for the quiet but a little nervous about all the silence. I'll make sure there are enough lights on in the house, so that I don't feel like Jamie Lee Curtis in Halloween sitting alone in the flickering glow of the TV set.

Maybe I'll switch on the Kindle and try to get back into David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest, a book that thrills me with its language and daunts me with its length. Or I'll find a good sporting event and continue my quest to take advantage of being on break by drinking as much beer as is humanly possible. Either way, I'll do so with one ear listening for my wife's key in the door, breaking up the wonderful horror and horrifying wonder of my "alone time."