Solitude

Leave a comment August 1, 2016 drworobec

I arrived to my hot yoga class forty-five minutes early yesterday morning. I’d misread the holiday schedule, and showed up to find an empty parking lot and a locked studio door. I probably could’ve gone back home, as it’s only a five minute drive each way, but I felt myself longing for some solitude. So I stayed in my car, opened the doors, and wrote this post while wrapped in the bliss of fresh air, Summer sunshine, and a holiday Monday.

Solitude is not something I get a lot of; with a young family, busy job, and great friends, alone time is rare. For many of you, I’m sure that’s also the case. But, as I’m learning, solitude is something I absolutely need to be my best self. I’d say I’m an extroverted introvert, if that’s even a thing, and what really refreshes and resets me is time alone. I see this trait in my son as well, and cater to and protect his downtime daily. For me, sometimes it’s just a few deep breaths and a brief moment with my thoughts before I feel regrouped and ready to tackle the next task. Yesterday, it meant a 75-minute yoga class and a half hour in my quiet car. I needed it yesterday. I could feel it, I was craving it.

I’d met up with a dear friend of mine the night before, for a movie and then a walk, and we talked about exactly this: alone time and self-discovery and reflection. She’s very good at self-improvement and introspection, and I always look to her lead in those areas. Her recent discovery is that of a 24-hour solo retreat; that is, 24 hours away from home, alone. No to-do lists or timelines or schedules or expectations. This “solo retreat” is a foreign concept to me, something I hadn’t considered, and something I’ve never done in the 7.5 years that I’ve been a parent. She certainly piqued my interest.

My husband and I had a similar conversation awhile ago, regarding my need for a daily dose of solitude. “That’s one of the things I love about running,” I told him, “it gives me alone time to think.” To think, and breathe, and dream. My 24-hour retreat would involve lots of sleep, lots of writing, lots of food, and lots of running.

What would yours look like?

I hate camping.

8 Comments July 26, 2016 drworobec

This past weekend, I went camping with my family. Just a short trip, for two nights and three days, we ventured to Pinery Provincial Park, on the beautiful shores of Lake Huron. But I have a shameful secret to share:

I hate camping.

It’s true. And now I feel exposed and raw and vulnerable. You now know the real me, one that includes a hatred of camping.

I grew up in the foothills of the Alberta Rockies, and regularly went camping with my parents and brother. I don’t remember loving or hating it, it was just something we did every Summer, and I would bring my books and fishing rod and head out into nature for a few fresh air sleeps. Back then, I lived in a small town, and “nature” was a big part of my everyday, so camping wasn’t much of a stretch beyond my normal. But now, living in a very urban centre, it’s more of an adventure for my city kids to camp. And they love it. We go annually, and my husband and I suck up our camping aversions, load up the SUV until we can’t see out the windows, and take our children to a campsite for a few days of marshmallows, lake swims, and free-range parenting.

Logically, I can’t quite figure out my negative feelings towards camping. I love the campfire part, the fresh air part, the hikes, the swims, the fishing, and the tent sleeps. But the higher-maintenance part of me wants clean feet and easy access to coffee, and I still haven’t figured out how to cook a gourmet meal on a campfire, like I see our camping neighbors doing. In fact, just last night I overhead a mother tell her son they were having Tex-Mex fajitas as I choked down my burnt hot dog and lukewarm beans. Sigh. And I can’t quite understand the appeal of spending hours making lists, grocery shopping, and packing the car, only to head to a campground to try to emulate the comforts of home. To each their own, and a true camper I am not.

I am writing this post from my iPad in the car, on our way back to Burlington. My grimy, exhausted children are colouring in the backseat, and my hairy, sweaty husband (he just wrestled the tent back into its bag. Another question: WHY OH WHY are tent bags always so small???) is looking for the nearest Tim Horton’s. In a couple of hours we’ll be home, and I’ll be scraping the filth off of me and washing campfire smoke out of my hair so that I can head into work and look forward to a blissful sleep in my own bed. But first, we’ve got a few hours of unpacking, de-sanding, and laundry to tackle.

Happy children. Check, check, double-check. So I can pretend to love camping for a few days a year.

Just like us.

6 Comments July 12, 2016 drworobec

It’s been ten years.

My husband and I celebrate our ten-year wedding anniversary on Friday, July 15th.

We were just pups when we got married (okay, I was a pup, he was an older pup), and our life has grown beyond our wildest dreams. In fact, my wildest dreams have always been vague notions rather than knowing exactly what the end result would be. But here we are, in a life we could never have imagined and are ever so thankful for.

I’ve written about my husband many times, and in fact, I wrote an eight-year anniversary post in 2014, so I won’t reinvent the wheel. But I’m better with the written word than the spoken word, so this seems like the natural place to shout my feelings from the rooftops. And since he’s my editor, he’ll read this first and he’ll smile. And that’s really what life’s all about, isn’t it? Smiles.

Company is coming to visit on Thursday. I love having out-of-town guests because it means a full house, lots of food in the fridge, and backyard laughs with no timelines. We’re hosting two sets of friends and family, back to back, and we’ll sneak away on Friday night, in between one crew leaving and one crew arriving, and have a laid-back dinner, just the two of us. It’ll be close to home so we can walk, big portions so we can eat, and a quiet setting so we can talk. Comfortable, low-key, content. Just like us.

Us is better than he and I. And I am far better because of him.