The gift, a harmony of silence and solitude, arrived while I was preoccupied by the endless chatter of my annoying self – a musing that no respectable psychotherapist, let alone a well-analyzed one, should submit to.
The surreal “present” occurred around six o’clock, January 25, 2018, sometime after I’d settled into the back seat (a welcome space of anonymity) of my friend’s SUV, stretched the seat belt strap across my body and inserted the tongue into the buckle by my right hip.
I was buckled-up, but not for the ride I was about to take.
David, his wife Marsha, and I, Siri too if “she” counts, had begun the hour-long drive to Norwood, Massachusetts, for a dinner party with college classmates. The following day, Friday, we would gather again at a celebrative memorial for Don, our deceased classmate. While my two friends in the front seat drifted in and out of conversation, I watched as the darkened world outside my window passed by, marked by long stretches of unremarkable noise abatement walls, which captured my attention. These steel and concrete structures had no relevance to me, but on this particular evening I became intrigued, if not compelled, by their presence along the highway.
Their poignant place in my inner journey would soon be apparent.
Thoughts of Don and his family, friendship, the briefness of life—even a fully lived one—vied for my attention with incessant, negative self-talk, a pattern that often happens when school reunions occur, a time when I’m painfully reminded of how lonely I felt during my high school and college years—feelings I tried to hide: You’re not good enough, and you never fulfilled your potential. You don’t measure up to your college classmates. You’re a divorced reluctant disciple among successfully married, doubt-free “disciples.”
I’d recently read a poem, Church Porch, by George Herbert and recalled part of the verse:
By all means use sometimes to be alone;
Salute thyself, see what thy soul doth wear;
Dare to look in thy chest, for ‘tis thine own,
And tumble up and down what thou find’st there—
Tumble mode found me in the darkness of the backseat.
The litany of mistakes, miscues, and failures seemed endless. I fought to give memories of Don more than a toehold as we crossed the state line from New Hampshire to Massachusetts. I pictured his smile, heard his laughter, recalled his wonderful wry sense of humor, and remembered with fondness our shared wonderings about whether we fit or were misfits during our college days.
And then my preoccupation with the acoustical, noise abatement walls began to make sense. Frederick Buechner came to mind, a wise and insightful writer whose words often bring me hope and solace. I knew the gist of what he’d written, and that was enough, at the time, as I gazed out the window, but days later I looked up the quote in his work, Telling the Truth:
“Beneath our clothes, our reputations, our pretensions, beneath our religion or lack of it, we are all vulnerable both to the storm without and to the storm within, and if ever we are to find true shelter, it is with the recognition of our tragic nakedness and need for true shelter that we have to start.”
I needed an inner earthen berm, an impervious masonry noise abatement wall to stop the ceaseless chatter. The poet and writer were taking me there, and so too was Paul Tillich. The Winter-Term course I’d been teaching was coming up on the final week of class, and I’d referenced Tillich’s distinction between loneliness and solitude as students immersed themselves in questions about the loneliness of their virtual lives on social media platforms. “Language has created the word ‘loneliness’ to express the pain of being alone,” he’d written, “and it has created the word ‘solitude’ to express the glory of being alone.”
Reliving the loneliness of bygone college days, and painful feelings of inadequacy began to ebb as Don’s humor, his smile and genuineness found more than a tenuous grip in my soul. Silence and solitude, an embraceable companionship, brought a needed smidgeon of glory to being alone with who I am and who I’ve been.
City streets replaced the Interstate, storefronts and residential homes passed by outside where the protective noise pollution walls had defined the landscape. Noise abatement, the kind troubled souls seek in despairing times of self-doubt, had quelled the raucous annoying internal prattle at least for the moment, and provided desired respite.
Do we not all struggle and wrestle with unnecessary, yet very real, doubts and questions about our worthiness, value, roles and place? Of course, we do—this reluctant disciple and psychotherapist included.
If I could pull up a chair, join them for a beer and interrupt their conversation I’d say: “Are doubt and darkness necessary to see the light? Say it ain’t so, Jesus, you too, Sigmund.”
But, I know better than to ask the question because they’ve taught me well.
by 
Those who love you see the depth of your soul along with the surface human flaws.
Laney,
I hope for both, and thank you.
Roger
Love this post, Roger. I could “hear” the whoosh of cement walls while driving in my car or better, when not driving, blocking out sound. Funny how memory allows me to hear that silence. Like cupping hands over ears there is a different sense of space and even self, more inside, insular. The word loneliness to express the pain of being alone and the word solitude expressing the glory of being alone. Thank you for that. Just wonderful.
Okay, little weird replying to my comment but I thought some more about Paul Tillich’s quote on loneliness and solitude and emailed a friend about it. I wrote:
“I had to share Paul Tillich with you. I discovered his name in a friend’s blog post but didn’t know who he was and so went to Wikipedia to find out more. It said: “Paul Johannes Tillich (August 20, 1886 – October 22, 1965) was a German-American Christian existentialist philosopher and Lutheran Protestant theologian who is widely regarded as one of the most influential theologians of the twentieth century.”
Paul Tillich wrote: “Language has created the word ‘loneliness’ to express the pain of being alone and it has created the word ‘solitude’ to express the glory of being alone.”
I never thought about the difference but it’s huge, isn’t it? Having lived alone most of my life I can attest to the difference. I must say, I cherish my solitude because the feelings around it are good and full, light, not alone, a sense that loving souls are around me, comforting, it’s fulfilling, it fills the well, I come out with a stronger sense of self. I must REALLY need and like it, since I’ve lived alone most of my life and I didn’t have to.
I can sit in the same space at home at times and feel lonely…. and that feels empty, bleak, hopeless, unloved, unwanted, sad, demons do their dance.
I don’t think the goal is to not feel lonely. More to embrace wherever we are in our heads and to remember we are hopelessly and forever loved by God. How different we can feel within one day. My friend’s blog post got me thinking and those two words really got me going.
Jo Anne,
There is nothing weird about seeking Tillich, but if he was here to read your comments I think he’d love it, as do I. Thank you.
Roger
Jo Anne,
Whoosh and cement seem antithetical, but you are on spot-on to hearing the silence that too often eludes us. Let’s cup our hands and listen to what we hear and don’t hear…
Thanks for spending time and sharing,
Roger
“My peace I give you” is comforting to me but often the noise is so loud I have to learn and learn again how to accept and grab the help. How to accept the cure, peace, is tricky and takes work for me but I know it is there.
Catherine O’,
My peace I give you…reminds me of Bill Withers’ song “Lean on Me.” I love his voice and the lyrics, and in the leaning comes some peace–elusive as you say, but damn if it isn’t there!
Thank you,
Roger
At certain times during my life, being alone is extremely comforting. There’s a required strength needed within that loneliness.
Tom,
You are intrepid, filled with the strength to deal with being lone and finding strength and companionship.
Thanks for reading and commenting,
Roger
Your beautifully crafted piece triggered my memory of the first time I felt the difference between loneliness and solitude. I was taking care of a friend’s dog and house one weekend and was looking forward to some quiet time alone, a much needed break from my usual busy life filled with parenting and teaching. A certain unfamiliar spontaneous inspiration prompted me to treat myself to lobster and champagne, and a long leisurely read in a bubble bath. The house sat on a secluded dirt road and overlooked a beautiful pond. I reveled in a spectacular sunset and the pleasure of my own company. I was alone, except for the dog, who gave me my space once I had seen to his needs for food and exercise.
Variations of that weekend of solitude have come and gone periodically over the decades since. And still at other times,
I feel the pangs of loneliness and the longing for good company other than myself. As often, your weaving of words, thoughts and feelings reminds me of the yin and yang of all of life. Thank you for sharing your journey and inviting me in to share a piece of my own. Write on, mom ami, when the noise abates, or when it inspires you to write something again.
Colette,
Thank you for reading and commenting. Lobster, champagne, a space giving dog, seclusion with a pond in view, a book and bath bring solitude–wonderful. I suspect quiet and your own companionship were more than enough in the moment. Bath tub rings often remind us of our pangs, but let’s keep filling the tub!
Roger
Your writing is lovely to read- almost like poetry. It is so full of content, I need to turn it over in my mind for some days to digest it.
Since the holidays, I have been occupied with turning loneliness, in part related to the serious illness of a dear friend, into solitude. Thanks to your reference to Tillach for giving me the words for this activity. Duplicate bridge is my noise abatement of choice. For me, it requires so much concentration there is no room for other musings.
I do not pretend to have an understanding of Tillach, but I do know what his words mean to me. “The courage to be is rooted in the God who appears when God disappears in the anxiety of doubt.” For me, that is a message of hope that has sustained me over the years.
Just some of my thoughts. Thank You! Dona
Dona,
You’re welcome, and thank you for your thoughtful response. It is wonderful when a chosen musing drowns out the unwanted one. Finding our way through loneliness into welcoming solitude can be arduous, perhaps seem impossible when the former becomes suffocating, but you and Paul found your way and share a faith in hope that sustains. I hope the same will be present for your ill friend.
Sincerely,
Roger
Tillich- sorry!
Whoops, Dona, do we not all commit miscues?
I’m in good company, thank you.
Roger
For me your comments regarding our struggle and wrestling with unnecessary, yet very real doubts and questions about our worthiness, value, roles and place slowly grows less and less important as we get older. They may not disappear totally but they become diminished and we spend less time thinking about them. I tell myself,I am comfortable and confident the way I am and if people don’t agree, so be it.
Bud,
Perhaps one of the “gifts” that comes with age! Mark Twain wrote: “Life would be infinitely happier if we could only be born at the age of eighty and gradually approach eighteen.”
Thanks for reading and commenting.
Roger
Lovely post, Roger, and a lovely time at Don’s service. Blessings to you on your journey — one that we all partake of in different ways . . and with varying degrees of doubt and certainty.
Jim,
Thank you for reading, responding to these thoughts, and adding to our celebration of Don’s life with your words. The tribe whose journey involves moments of uncertainty and doubt in “varying degrees” has many members–I’m in good company.
Roger
Roger, you really do “see” more from the back seat. Loneliness and solitude are definitely different experiences and it made me begin to think back to my first recollection of loneliness or was it really finding solitude.
A vacancy for church camp had opened up and I was invited to go. It was a mix of junior high boys and girls, and I was excited about going but didn’t have a buddy to pair up with. Located in the mountains near Lake Arrowhead, it was a beautiful campus with mature pines and quaint, rustic cottages.
The mornings started off in the dining hall with a huge breakfast of oatmeal, bacon, eggs and toast combined with noisy kids enjoying camp announcements and raucous songs like “John Jacob Jinglehimmer Schmidt”, and of course prayers. I became nauseous and usually made my way to the infirmary for a dose of pink Pepto Bismol.
I felt very alone in the crowd of joyful kids.
The week was long, I made my crafty lanyard string, went on hikes, attended vespers, silently accepted Christ and I managed to blend in. But somewhere in the experience I found solitude just sitting quietly listening to the gentle wind blowing through the ancient pines.
Roger, thank you for the inspirational writing.
Bette,
Many of us have “felt alone in the crowd of joyful kids,” and I suspect that behind the joy lurked some loneliness. Courageous of you to find your way into “just sitting quietly listening to the gentle wind blowing through ancient pines.” The search for and embrace of solitude in the midst of the pressure to join the joyful crowd took strength as well. Wonderful that you had both, with assistance from a dose of the “pink helper.”
Thank you for taking the time to reflect and share your thoughts.
Roger