Solitude
Though my partner and I live together, we don't spend every weekend together due to his childcare responsibilities. Every other weekend is a precious time that I spend with myself and non-human beings such as trees.
Every human being is unique, and some need more time by themselves and with non-humans than others might do, and that's ok. When I still lived with my family of origin, my mother and stepfather would focus much on doing rather than being, and I often felt that I didn't have enough time to recharge and to have inner dialogues. By focusing on activities they often overlooked immersive experiences such as sitting with the sun and sleeping in the grass, sensing the world and being with, for a long time (and naming!) different emotions. I learned the word self-transcendence only later in my life, though I had felt it very often before. I do believe that my mother and stepfather meant well, but they were extroverted humans who felt energised and fulfilled after completing a set of activities, preferably in different locations, and being with fellow humans.
My fellow humans, at times, ask me what I do every day. In this entry I will write about my typical weekend. I say typical because sometimes my partner, my stepchild and I spend time together. Sometimes we attend family events together, too. Otherwise, my partner leaves on Friday in the afternoon and comes back on Sunday in the evening. After he leaves, usually I go for a long walk in one of our local parks. In the past few months, I haven't been doing it so much because of hyperemesis gravidarum, but now, as I'm feeling better, I walk more again.
I love, and walk in, all kinds of weather. Like many fellow humans, I enjoy being with the sun, especially in winter when there are not many sunny days here in the Nordics. But misty weather is magical too. It reminds me of stories we tell our children in this region about trolls and witches. Oftentimes, when it's very misty, many fellow humans prefer to stay home, and it feels that I'm in the park entirely by myself. Usually, when it is misty, it is also warm, and I feel like I am walking through a cloud. I love being with the rain too. I learned to embrace it when I lived in England.
Because my partner and I often work together during the week, on my Fridays I try to catch up with my own tasks. Usually, I return to some article that I'm writing or to my editorial tasks at the journal where I serve as an associate editor (it's called Environmental Values). I prefer to work by myself, in an empty space and without any sound, apart from natural sounds of wind or rain.
Being by myself means that I can eat whenever I want and whatever I love the most. I either eat earlier or later, but rarely at the time my partner and I eat together. I try to listen to my body to understand what it needs. My partner often says that my food preferences are those of a 4 year old. I never used to appreciate this feedback, but after contemplating it for a while, I think he might be right. Growing up, I ate a lot of vegetables, beans, and fruits. My family had a garden for some years, and they used to grow some vegetables there, as well as berries, sunflowers, beans, and corn. At times, we would forage too. Some of my favourite treats, as a child, were a bowl of foraged blueberries with a tiny bit of sugar, an orange peeled by my stepfather and arranged on a plate as a flower. I used to love pieces of grapefruit with sugar. Vegetable soups and salads. And I love such food these days too. Oftentimes, I make soup with the vegetables I have at home, a simple pasta dish with vegetables, or a salad. I almost never follow any recipes. I try to use what I have at home and combine ingredients intuitively, processing them as simply and minimally as possible. Being on my own means that I am the only person who needs to be satisfied with a particular dish, which feels liberating. I often cut up fruits and vegetables and arrange them on a plate to eat over some hours.
I usually, but not always, go to bed early, around 9:30 pm, especially in winter. I love sleeping by myself, in the middle of our floor bed. These days, before I sleep, I focus on my body. I am excited about forthcoming first moves of my baby inside my body. I am grateful to my body for being a cosy home for my soul and for enabling me to experience life the way I do. I am present with my skin that sometimes doesn't feel well due to an autoimmune skin condition. And pregnancy came with many changes that I want to observe and honour.
I wake up naturally. Early in summer, but late in winter. Our apartment is a top-floor one, and sometimes birds sit on the roof just above it. They often wake me up too. Even though I called this entry "solitude", in reality I am never by myself. There are birds, trees, the air, stars, the moon and the sun. I never get up immediately. I stay in bed for some time to contemplate life. I often feel dizzy in the morning, so when I do get up, I do it slowly. I let some fresh air in, even in winter, and make a drink to celebrate life. Usually, it's just a glass of tap water or sparkling water, with or without a piece of fruit. Then I take a shower. It's wonderful to be with the water. I don't have a skin care routine. I've written more about it in this entry. At times, though rarely, I use a wash cloth to say goodbye to some dead skin cells. The wash cloth I use is an old, undyed hand towel that shrank in the wash in our previous apartment and became too small for its original purpose.
Afterwards, I make tea and try to be present with fellow humans' messages. I am incredibly lucky in that the fellow humans I interact with online are often fellow practitioners of sustainability (or are on paths of relating with the world differently), though in diverse ways. I learn from them, unlearn together with them. I feel gratitude for the wisdom and lived experiences that fellow humans share with me. And I try share my lived experiences too, primarily via this autoethnography. I don't have a personal diary. Everything that is on my mind is here.
I don't have to-do lists and don't schedule my days. Generally, on my weekends, I try to clean my home. Even though it might sound controversial, I enjoy cleaning. We live with very few items, and I try to tidy up often, so cleaning is not a chore. It's a way for me to express gratitude to the space I live in and to use my body. I refill our soap, dish washing liquid and baking soda on my weekends. I also try to do the laundry. If there were more items to wash and more items to clean, I would ask my partner to do half of it, but because there are so few items, splitting every task would feel like unnecessarily complicating life. Usually, he cleans the drains and takes so-called waste out.
Apart from cleaning, I walk, do gentle exercises at home, read and write. Writing takes several hours every day, but to me, writing is so many things at once. It is a healing activity. I share knowledge via writing my academic papers. Through writing, I grow as a person in all kinds of roles I play in society. It is my work, my safe space, and my hobby. On my Saturdays, which are my favourite days, I eat as I have described above. Intuitively would perhaps be the most appropriate word for it. I try to avoid going to shops, even to the cooperative supermarket where we buy most of our food, during my hours. My partner and I go to the supermarket on Sunday evening when he comes back.
These days, I also talk to my yet unborn baby very often. I even read what I am reading to them (e.g., a lovely article that I enjoy or a philosophy book). Though they do not understand a word, it is an act of bonding and togetherness.
I don't watch tv and, despite having started sharing videos via a video sharing platform, I very rarely watch videos either. I live with sensory processing sensitivity, and much editing, bright colours, frequent changes in visual content, and sounds often feel overstimulating to me.
To some fellow humans, this mode of living may come across as boring, and I appreciate it that not every human wants to live this way. Yet to me, this mode of living and relating with myself, with my life, and with time feels nurturing, wholesome, and healing. I choose the activities I love the most and spend many hours on each one of them. If I write, usually I write for many hours. If I walk, I take long walks. My life will certainly change when the baby arrives. I don't yet know what it will look like, but I hope to give to my baby what I didn't receive in my own childhood, and what I so desperately needed: nourishing slowness and deep immersion in life.