Travelling Soul-O

So, most of you know, I’m not married anymore: I’m dating. Yes, like a twentysomething. Most of the time I love it, because well, I love people. Recently, however, when the sweet man I was seeing for almost a year and I decided to part ways, I found that dating was kinda hard. And kinda traumatic. 

I picked up my slippers from his place; he returned all of my plastic containers from the lunches I’d made for him. Then it was time to cancel the reservation for the off-grid cabin that I’d made for us. I’d been following this company on Instagram for months and was really excited that I was actually getting to go to one of their tiny places up by Sharbot Lake. I opened my laptop to send the email, and I heard a voice; a strong, distinct voice. It said: Go alone.

I’m a mother of three. My sister and I live ten minutes apart. I have friendships of over forty years. I often describe my dad as my best friend. The truth is, I hardly ever go anywhere alone - someone is always willing to keep me company.

No, how could I go?,  I asked myself.

It’s really far away. There’s no Wi-fi. If the cabin runs out of power, I’ll have to run a…a…a… generator. (I’d only ever seen a generator in the Canadian Tire flyer, hence the hesitation.)

And yet, the voice was insistent: Go alone.

My girlfriends called me Badass, my beloved business partner was encouraging, and my pops giggled with glee at the idea.

I was nervous as heck, but I packed up early Saturday morning. I would not return until Monday at dinner. I had watched the video on the cabin website showing how to start the generator over and over: Check gas level. Choke on. Air flow open. Switch on. Extension cord secure, and one sharp pull. The decision was made. I was going solo. Or, as a girlfriend of mine who knows of my tendency to be introspective said, I was going Soul-o.

And guess what? I did it. Not only did I find the place without effort during a whiteout, and spent three days alone (okay there was a bit of texting; people did need to know I was alive after all), but man, I absolutely LOVED every moment of it.

I loved resting. I loved the river racing alongside my cabin. I loved the way my queen-sized bed was flanked by a giant window that gifted me a view of the stars at night. I loved the simple pots and pans, the whistling kettle, reading, napping, and watching the predictable movies I’d downloaded onto my laptop. I loved that everything I needed to sustain me was contained in 162 square feet.

When I ventured to the nearby provincial park for a hike, I was the only person there. Again, I was astonished by the quiet. 

As a person who always has music playing, listens to meditations and podcasts, enjoys a few shows, and reads incessantly, I was aware of the absence of content filling my ears, and filling the space between my ears. I admit I turned my data on and scrolled some Instagram from time to time; and yet, I was so relieved at not having to talk to anyone.

I know what I experienced isn’t new. I’m sure many of you have probably spent more time alone than I have. If you have, you know this undeniable truth: when you get quiet, you get incredibly clear.

As your book coach, I repeatedly ask writers this question, “What do you want to say?”

Some answer immediately; while others, I suspect, are a bit like me before I headed off to the cabin - so full up to the brim of information, ideas, and the thoughts of others that it’s difficult to identify and retrieve the specific nutrients that you’ve contributed to the great cosmic soup.

What does your soul sound like amidst all of that noise?

If you don’t know, then go somewhere soul-o, even for just a few hours. I guarantee that in the quiet and the stillness, the clearest expression will emerge. Personally, I noodled through a problem that had eluded me for years. The answer came to me, like the words streaming from the tail of a small airplane flying by. The experience was so vivid, I won’t soon forget the message.

So when you’re unsure, get quiet.

For my part, I’m powering down this laptop and my phone for a while. I’ll connect with you again when I return from this next brief retreat.

Warmly,

Marcy