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Dear Subscriber First Name, I’ve just returned from ten days alone in a small, rustic cabin deep in the woods on a mountaintop in rural NH. I set out on a “writing retreat” to get started on my next book, but - as is so often true with these kinds of adventures - I went in need of, and received, so much more.
The term “retreat” is a misnomer. Retreats are not intended to offer us distance and respite from life, rather they offer us the conditions that allow for immersion and intimacy with our experience. My retreat was far more of a “turning towards.” I got to learn about how to be alone with the rich range of feelings that arose from being secluded in the woods, keeping the woodstove going through very cold nights and rainy days, a power outage, an insect infestation, physical pain, and…let me not share more. It seems the quest for perspective often asks us to walk toward the dark and the unfamiliar, if not the entirely unknown, and come out the other side - hopefully - with an enhanced reservoir of light and wisdom from which to draw. I will admit that there were more than a few times during my stay when I asked myself why I would possibly think to do this, and why I would not let myself leave when the going got tough; why I would willingly trade comforts, loved ones, and home for the trials of mind and body that I endured. But, in the end, it was good to notice how much my spiritual musculature benefited from the willingness to commit and stay. And (no matter how productive my writing was or wasn’t), the daily gains I felt in terms of resourcefulness and resilience became their own rewards, and ones I trust will serve my life and the book in ways I cannot yet know. A few highlights: Darkness from the hilltop so complete the stars blazed in the night sky all the way to the horizon, like an upside-down bowl filled with diamonds. And woods so abundant I could walk in them every day and not see the same view twice, and so quiet that the trees gave voice to the wind. The profound anchoring and physical comfort provided by the daily whistling of far-off trains. Not really seeing myself in a mirror or thinking about my appearance for ten whole days! Coming to think of my “reflection” in new ways. Watching - with sincere interest - my choices about how to spend unstructured alone-time in each of over 200 hours, and surprising myself by continually choosing silence. No video, no music, no TV, movies, no YouTube. Just my own thoughts and the sounds of the world around me. Reading and reflecting on poetry like I was famished, and leaving feeling nourished and filled up by the feast. Getting some words down and a semblance of direction for my writing. I have always heard it’s good to stop writing when you’re in the middle of an invigorating thought so you can enthusiastically pick up where you left off. I certainly have a lot of thought-threads to follow now!
My friend, poet James Crews (whose wonderful poem and new book are shared below), wrote to me and kindly said, “…remember that walking, hiking, and staring at the wall all count as writing time." I so appreciated this wisdom, and did eventually come to see how everything could qualify as writing time, because the entirety of my time held the commitment to writing as its centerpiece, and so my attention was ever-drawn to that focus. It seems important not to look back and feel that my time spent outdoors, sitting, eating, feeling, reading, crocheting, or pondering life in its details or vastness were in any way a betrayal to the writing I wanted to do. Most of my hours may not have been productive or constructive in the typical ways we might think of those terms, but they were certainly generative. I delight in the graciousness of this distinction, and hope you might too. Home now, I feel an even greater recognition and reverence for the comforts, privileges, beauty, and companionship of my life here. It helps to intentionally step away from - and/or imagine not having access to - the everyday things and people that we can so easily grow to take for granted. With the gift of perspective, appreciation flows from us more freely, as it longs to! As T.S Eliot wisely reminds us, “…and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.” Praise Be. The museletter collection below and my website are offered to support you in living, learning, and loving with greater wonder and appreciation. Please enjoy - and freely share - the gifts and invitations that are here. Thank you. With a grateful heart -
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