Solitaire

I've been living alone for two and a half years now, two of them in this house, and I walk alone a lot. It's not surprising, then, that I've had plenty of time to think, and those thoughts are often about The Meaning of Life. I went out this afternoon when I saw that it had stopped raining, and as usual I was uplifted by the very fact of being outdoors. The wind had dropped and it was mild enough that I quickly realised a thick sweater and a jacket were too much. For once my care-in-the-community hat dangled from a finger. I strode off down the hill looking around at the fields for hares, listening to the birdsong, and musing to myself about how contented I was, and that thought pulled me up short. So what is contentment then, I pondered. What is happiness? I suppose they are diffferent things for different people, but I wonder if we don't expect too much, that sometimes what we have is enough. I've just spent the whole weekend including Friday alone apart from a few hours at Snape, though I have spoken to people on the phone. There was a time not long ago when I would have found this prospect completely unbearable. But it wasn't at all. Living with someone can be comforting if not always totally pleasurable, and it's the comfort that is missed. The companionship. I think I'm a naturally solitary person as long as I have enough social interaction. Loneliness seems normal to me. It's what we feel when we want company, especially when we've been used to it. The trick is not to allow it to get the better of you, keep it to a minimum. Living alone is sad. It's not what's meant to happen. But if it does happen there are all sorts of compensations which have to be acknowledged and appreciated. You can do what you want when you want. There's no one to argue with. And if gets too much you can always rescue a dog.