I am a believer in the theory that sometimes (but not always) less is more. This is why I can say with absolute certainty what I’m about to say. Solitude sucks. I know I have previously commented on silence and my loathing of the communication gap between canines and their people, but solitude is far worse a reality than silence.
While I tend to agree with the majority of what transcendentalist thinker Henry David Thoreau had to say, I have found my exception to the rule.
“I never found a companion that was so companionable as solitude,” Thoreau suggested. It is at this point that I take my turn away from the Thoreau way of thought. I would much rather be silent amidst a gaggle of loved ones than at a fabulously orchestrated event all by my lonesome.
I think it is true of most dogs who have an unbreakable bond with their humans – time drags on for us while they’re anywhere but with us. I know a lot of us make the most of our solitude by daydreaming, napping, or enjoying some peanut butter goodness in the Kong toys left for us in our peoples’ absence, but that’s all we’re doing. Making the best of it.
In reality, we are counting every minute until we hear that car come back up the driveway, listening for the door to shut, the garage door to go down and alas! The door opens and we are reunited at last. I think its related to the unconditional love in our not-so-little doggie hearts. Personally, I know it’s related to my understanding and appreciation that my joy feels the most sincere when I share it with someone. Whatever it is, there is nothing like that time when we’re together.
But as I am in the habit of seeing the glass half full, I found myself thinking that maybe I’ve got it all wrong. Solitude offers a unique opportunity to be alone with one’s thoughts, which (to some) is a mighty scary thing. Dark days are real. Seeing the light can seem impossible when we’re at our lowest of the low. And yet that is the most important time to see the light at the end of an otherwise pitch black tunnel. Today I seek the light in solitude, as I know there must be something in which to find solace in even the darkest of places.
While I hope to never be exiled to a deserted island, I think I’d find a way to make the most of it. (Other than my allowable carry-on items of bacon, peanut butter, rawhide bones, water, my dog food and Mrs. Prickles obviously). Again I find myself attempting to change my perspective on solitude, and (in doing so) I change my perspective on life. “Loneliness is the poverty of self;” As American novelist and poet May Sarton said, “Solitude is the richness of self.”
And (if all else fails) a spoonful of peanut butter makes the medicine of solitude go down in the most delightful way.