60 Minutes of Solitude

This fall, I did something I will remember all winter. Two of my kids were playing with friends and my youngest child had fallen asleep in the car on our after school dash. The weather was beautiful, so I left him sleeping in the car with the windows down and perched myself nearby on our porch with my laptop.

I was ready to use these unexpected free moments for productive purposes. But after about 10 minutes, I was so relaxed and drowsy I could hardly stay awake. “Maybe I’ll just rest for a minute,” I thought. Then I leaned over, curled up and fell asleep in the sun.

As I laid there soaking in what could have been the last warm rays of the season, I remember thinking I had never been so perfectly comfortable. The sky was royal blue and cloudless. The neighborhood was quiet. A soft breeze was just enough to keep the sun from becoming hot.

I’ve always thought if I could be any animal, I’d be an eagle. Perhaps I’ve overlooked the benefits of life as a cat.

Sadly, this was an indulgent act for me, as it would be for most American adults. Yet I am so glad I allowed myself to enjoy it. I can’t recall anything about the computer work I neglected in exchange for that catnap. But I vividly remember the peace, solitude and warmth of those 60 quiet minutes in the sun.

I felt a bit like Frederick the field mouse from the children’s book. His family works day and night to gather corn and nuts and straw for the winter. But not Frederick. He stares into the pretty meadow.

“Why don’t you work Frederick,” his family says reproachfully.

“I do work,” he insists, and then relates how he’s soaking in sun rays for cold dark winter days, gathering colors from the meadow because winter is gray, and gathering words to share on long winter days when all of them have run out of things to say.

When the snow begins to fall, the field mice are content at first. They have plenty of food to eat and stories to share. But as winter drags on, their supplies dwindle. They become cold and quiet. Then they remember Frederick.

“What about your supplies Frederick?” they ask. Frederick, true to his promise, is eager to share his plentiful stores. He tells them to shut their eyes and relates in vivid detail the feeling of the warm sun and the look of the colorful meadow. His words and poetry carry them through the remaining hard days of winter.

We ought to take a cue from Frederick. Work is important, of course. But rather than always running busily through our days, rushing through work and errands and home life, we ought to allow ourselves to pause and appreciate the gifts of the present more often. To enjoy the smell or feel of the air, the beauty of a pink striped sunrise, the taste of our food or maybe the feeling of our child’s cheek or spouse’s hand.

I asked my kids last night to tell me something fun that happened to them that day. My three-year-old thought about this for a few seconds. As his dark brown eyes looked at me intently I wondered if he would just copy the response of one of his older siblings.

But his eyes twinkled when he settled on his decision. “Eating TWO pieces of candy,” he declared, the smile on his face clearly reflecting his delight with this simple, fun memory.

I hope you pause today and everyday to feel the sun on your face, to savor some candy or to recognize whatever simple gifts comes your way.