I woke up at 4:00 a.m. realizing that Scout hadn't given her usual 2:30 a.m. whimper to go potty.
And instead of getting her up and out I just lay there trying to fall asleep again. Thinking that maybe, just maaaybe, she would sleep all the way through the night making all my puppy dreams come true.
But I couldn't fall back asleep. And for some reason all I could think about was being a kid. And a lot of what I can remember clearly about being a kid is the time I spent all by myself.
I thought about this, about all the time I spent during summer days and winter afternoons being alone and content.
There was a large china hutch positioned in the corner of our kitchen. Behind it was an electric space heater attached to the wall with just enough space for an 8 year old. I would bring a blanket and pillow, turn the heater on and read one book after another happily for hours.
Around the corner and down the street from our house was a big Oak tree in front of a field that backed up to a small church. I would ride my bike there and sit under the tree. Digging at the dirt. Looking at bugs. Singing to myself.
Our neighbors didn't have kids but had a spacious yard and a weimaraner named Rolf. He was big and beautiful and kind. I would duck under their post-and-rail fence to swing on their tire swing while he danced around me with a dog smile on. Or we would walk through their gardens eating raspberries and I'd lay in their hammock for what seemed like hours dreaming up stories, dozing off and listening to birds.
My sister and I had our own little closets in our shared pink room. I would sit in mine and slide the door shut. In the dark with my eyes closed I'd dream about the dresses I would wear if I were a princess. I would dream that I was Rapunzel and that a prince was coming to rescue me from a tall tower. Textbook girl dreams, I know.
I loved being alone as a child. Reading, dreaming, thinking, or just doing nothing but listening.
I thought about all these things from 4:00 a.m. until 5:08 a.m. when Scout let me know she was awake with a full bladder.
As I put her leash on and set her in the wet grass I thought about how in adulthood I've been taught that it's dangerous to retreat from people and "isolate". How it means that there is something wrong, or that maybe your running away from something. I think I woke up this morning with those thoughts of childhood solitude swirling around my brain for a good reason. A gentle, sweet reminder that there is grace to take a step back. That there is a peace in extended solitude that is not only okay, but beautiful. That I can learn a lot from what I naturally and happily did as a child.
And that felt like relief.
Scout felt relieved too of course.
