COVID 20/20
In The Active Life, Parker J. Palmer writes about "unbidden solitude," that unexpected period of quiet that descends upon us. We're forced into "accidental contemplation" because of circumstances. . .a failed pursuit, a job loss, a loved one's absence, an illness or, as 2020 has taught us, a pandemic.
I've always treasured solitude, as did Jane Austen. She described one of her characters in this way: "Her own thoughts and reflections were habitually her best companions."
Along with solitude, though, COVID-19 has brought with it some unexpected togetherness. A friend of mine once told me she looked forward to the sound of the garage door opening, because it signaled the arrival of someone she loved. Is anyone else missing the sound of the garage door opening to let the people we love occasionally leave the house?
Just before COVID hit, my husband, David, and I moved to a new neighborhood in a new town hoping to meet new people. I'd been working on a novel for a few years and you'd think I'd embrace all of this unbidden solitude to write. But I could hear my husband in the house. What was he doing down there? Surely something more exciting than staring at a blank computer screen or scouring the internet for face masks. Workmen were coming and going as we renovated our house. Everybody seemed busy doing something. Why was I up here doing nothing? Downstairs I went, right into the thick of things.
I learned just how difficult it is to be disciplined during a pandemic, even if you don't watch daytime television. Reality TV in 2020? Who wants to watch other people sitting around doing nothing? I thought about watching Downton Abbey reruns, but my upstairs/downstairs life was quite monotonous. Upstairs: office. Downstairs: kitchen.
COVID-19 helped me realize that even those of us who prize solitude can have too much of it. I'm thankful a husband I love and a pet I adore share this quarantine space with me.
Unintentional contemplation, writes Palmer, occurs when we are disillusioned and "stripped of some illusions about life, about others, about ourselves." It also happens when we are dislocated, "forced by circumstance to occupy a very different standpoint. . .and our angle of vision suddenly changes to reveal a strange and threatening landscape."
This often leaves us lonely, laments Palmer, because others don't share "our dislocated view of things." Pause. Aren't we fortunate that we're all in this pandemic together? At least we have the same societal vantage point, even if our circumstances and hardships differ.
Palmer hearkens us to heed the "passages we must make in order to live beyond illusion and live in truth." This pandemic is such a passage. Is it giving you better vision? Who are you behind your mask? Take it off. Well, not that mask. At least not yet. Let's live squarely in the truth of what we're facing and not deny the impact our actions may have on others.
Solitude provides an opportunity to get to know ourselves better. Palmer affirms it can help each of us embrace our hearts and our identities. He paraphrases Thomas Merton’s definition of the solitary as “someone who is able to give her heart away because it is in her possession to give.” In other words, you can't give away what you don't have.
Let's use this solitary time to clean out the closets of our hearts, keeping what really matters and letting go of the rest. Let's examine our hearts, and not just our emotions, but our will and our intentions, as Dallas Willard would say. Let's see what's really there.
"Where your heart is, there your treasure is also," the Psalmist writes. Let's put our hearts into what we treasure, namely, our relationships. It's the only way we will get through this pandemic, leaning on God and each other.