“Behind the School and the Boy Scout Camp on Wednesday?” Ted asked last Friday as we finished our four mile Friday walk down Wildcat Canyon, past the Tilden Merry-Go-Round and back. “Sure,” I replied, using Ted’s nautical background for time-telling, “0700.” I walk a lot during the week, and several days Jadyne and I walk together. On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday she runs. I can run, but the surgeon who performed hip surgery recommended that I not run, as the weight of running puts an extra load on the titanium. So I don’t.
What I treasure about those three days, though, is being by myself. Oh right, Ted walks with me on Friday, and we have spirited conversations about just about everything. Ted is a good friend, and we have a lot in common. He’s slightly to the right of me politically, but that’s nothing unusual. Almost everyone else is, too.
But on Monday and Wednesday I’ve treasured being by myself. When I walk through the trails of Tilden I often listen to the sounds around me; on Monday, climbing up Marin I’m pleasantly distracted by the thousand albums on my phone channeled through my Sony earbuds. Those two days give me ample time to think, to sort out the bits and pieces of my day and my life. But I like walking with Ted, even now, two days a week.
I also like being alone. I’m alone right now sitting by my computer upstairs while Jadyne struggles with yet another Liberty puzzle two floors below. I like playing my guitar, working on photographs, and reading, all solitary activities.
Two days ago I walked around Berkeley’s Aquatic Park and took this image:
I sent it to my friend Gail Bray and asked, “Have you ever been really alone?” She replied, “Yes, I have.” We all have. Being alone gives us time to think, solve problems, gather thoughts, sort out relationships, and to recognize and acknowledge all that surround us.
Being alone and being lonely. On Saturday we met our Chinese conversational partners at Live Oak Park. One of them is returning in June to Beijing, flying first to Tokyo, then landing in Shanghai. Once he lands in China he will be taken by bus to a hotel where he’ll be locked in s room for fourteen days. (At his expense, of course, to the tune of $60 a night). All meals will be delivered to the room, and he’ll be tested daily for Covid-19. Needless to say, it’s two weeks of an unwelcome and looming loneliness that he’s thinking about.
Amid the pandemic there are more stories about loneliness. Here’s mine:
Senator Elizabeth Warren echoed that experience, too.
We have friends who have been living alone for the past two months. Gail has been especially cautious, choosing to have food delivered, rather than shopping for it herself. Her son Gabriel has recovered from Covid-19, and she has wondered how she would fare if she should be infected. “Who will take care of me?” It’s a level of fear that we didn’t really know or experience before the pandemic. We have other friends who live alone. Living alone brings whole new levels of meaning in the pandemic. No hugging, no touching, masks in public, six feet away from the nearest human being. Video calls, Zoom meetings, virtual touching, whatever that means.
A thesaurus gives us synonyms for alone—isolation, seclusion, confinement, lonesomeness, peace and quiet, solitude—some more welcoming than others. Take the comfort of “peace and quiet” and contrast it with “confinement.” Somewhere among these conventional definitions are feelings of unwelcome aloneness, one that accompanies the disappointment of failing to connect with someone when connecting is important to one of them.
I don’t believe that the two ships that perpetually pass each other in the night intend to do that. Last week I was one of those ships, and I didn’t just pass by one ship; I passed a dozen. During the pandemic I have spent hours upon hours photographing flowers. I’ve put them up on my website along with some thoughts about finding joy in the Pandemic, with images I’ve captured at Aquatic Park, with macro images of our dogwood tree. Gathering all of these together I sent them out in one email to my offspring, my brothers, Jadyne, my sisters-in-law, and to two friends, asking for any kind of comment, perhaps a question or two. My two Gail friends responded; my sister-in-law did, too, but that was it. Was I looking for praise? No, not really. I was simply excited about the project. I felt I had discovered a technique that I wanted to share with my family, to simply show them what had excited me and why. It would have been enough had they simply said “thanks for sending” so that I would at least know that even if words failed them that they had taken the time to look at the images. That’s all. So, I’m whining about it on my blog, wishing even for a minute alone on that darkened sea that I had seen even one small light.