At 6:58 p.m. a miracle happened in Madison, New Jersey. The children were in bed and asleep. My husband was engrossed in a basketball game, and the house was clean (enough). Enter solitude.
I’ve been lusting for some solo time to write, wander in my thoughts, and hang with no agenda. It’s freeing to surrender some stuff and simply be alone. These days, solo silence is rare.
But isn’t it funny how programmed we are to believe we must be busy? It almost feels wasteful to sit and journal, drink some tea, and do nothing. Yet nothing really is something.
These quiet moments are where I root myself. It’s where I leave the loudness of the world behind. And when there’s no noise I’m able to acknowledge, accept, and accelerate the truths that need to be told and the adventures to be embarked upon.
Quite simply, the art of being alone is often my greatest inspiration. So to stillness, solitude, and this Saturday night miracle, I extend sincere gratitude. For you, I wish peace.