THE WHOLESOMENESS OF SOLITUDE

May 16 2013Yesterday at 6 in the morning, Joel left for Rome and thence to Washington D.C., to meet with a posse of art collectors. Apart from the fact that it seems almost traitorous that one of us would step foot in America only 4 months into our year away from it, I had mixed feelings about his leaving, albeit only for 2 days.On the one hand I was actually looking forward to 2 days of solitude after 4 plus months of pretty much round the clock togetherness. As a writer, I am well equipped for solitude which, when it isn’t echoing-ly lonely, I find luxurious in its freedom: freedom to do what you want, when and how you want, without any need for explanation, consideration, or validation; freedom to listen to one’s uninterrupted thoughts without censorship, and freedom to experience the world without exclamation or explanation to another. There is a wholesomeness to solitude which I find deeply nourishing.On the other hand, there is the visceral and intellectual missing of the loved one. The intricate collaboration over basic decisions, like what to eat, when; whether to read or watch a film after dinner; the inanities of private jokes, the uniqueness of which can be shared with no-one else. And, in our case, the ongoing creative discourse both in regard to our individual projects as well as our shared ones. All these daily interactions, repeated over the years, become rituals as profound and comforting as the benediction of curling into each other’s bodies; the spooning before sleep.Unable to return to sleep after Joel’s early departure, I made myself breakfast and felt at once the echo of his absence and the enormous space of the day ahead of me. A sort of melancholy gathered not in me, but around me; a melancholy not helped by my viewing a 20-minute video in memory of one of our dear friends who died last year. I found myself wandering from the missing of him to the possibility that one day I would be missing Joel for more than 2 days.The weather didn’t help either. A day of sweet sorrow whose pendulous sky hung like an eyeful of unspent tears. I thought of possible things I could do to occupy myself and was disappointed to find that the initial list mainly consisted of shopping, whether for groceries or items with which to further decorate the house. So I was relieved to realize, finally,  that actually I didn’t want to go anywhere or see anyone.After four and half months of almost non-stop communication in English, French and Italian, I could think of no greater gift than a day of silence. So I politely declined invitations to lunch and dinner from friends and settled myself at my desk where, apart from a lunch break, I wrote from 10 to 4, the irony of which did not escape me, for as much as I relish silence, I nonetheless needed to disappear into the language of fiction. And so it was that I spent the hours reworking the first chapter of a new novel.By 4 o’clock my neck and shoulder were aching, so I sheathed my pen for the day and donning boots and raincoat, walked our country road, stopping to commune with the cows, in total agreement their chewing the cud, their breath gusting from flared nostrils, with once in a while a torrent of piss making itself heard.The sky, still not willing to sob, sailed overhead in bands and flurries of stormy grays, the wind whooshing across the green fields of young wheat. On the way back, I gathered wild flowers, sulla, daisies and poppies to which I added 3 roses from the garden. Silvia brought me fresh eggs from the farm and wild asparagus with which I made a frittata for my dinner, sprinkled with parmesan and seasoned with herbs from my new container garden. Another short walk before slipping into my nightie and bed to watch a British mystery.I had wondered how my first night alone in this house might be…out here in the country, where wild boars roam. For sure I double-checked the locks, but I wanted to be of the night, not guarded from it. And so I flung open the bedroom window, the cool, damp air fluttering my face, the rustling of animals and an irate moo from one of the cows putting a smile on my face, and then I was gone. At some point during the night, the sky finally let go, its thunderous downpour lifting me momentarily from sleep, only to smile again before surrendering once more to the solitude of my bed.