An Unexceptional Blog

The life I lead has resulted in me moving multiple times, across the country, in the last 10 years. With each move, I’ve anchored myself to my new found home. I ventured outside of my home, made new connections, made friends, made routines, knowing that I was safely tethered to my sanctuary. When came time to move again, I cut the rope that anchored me, and refashioned a new anchor to ground me to our new home, again. Again and again. With each cut, my rope became shorter and shorter until I scarcely left my home, and my connections to the outside world became few. 

I’ve been joking about being the weird witch living as a hermit in the house that she never leaves. I have to admit, dear reader; this makes me smile.

Since being alone is a part of the life I lead, I’ve decided to take charge of my aloneness. It is clearly a coping mechanism, but I’ve learned recently that coping mechanisms aren’t good or bad: they just are. When something is out of my control, one of my coping mechanisms is to decide (or pretend) that it is not. And so, being alone became a choice, as opposed to a result of circumstances about which I had very little say. What I can say is that, in the end, this last year and a half on my own has been genuinely good for me. A caterpillar is alone, after all, when it advocates for it own self-actualization, and makes its cocoon.

In my isolation, I was able to focus on learning new skills, and acquiring new knowledge. In the span of a couple years I’ve gone from owning my first sewing machine and making my very first stitches to having a wardrobe made almost entirely of clothes that I’ve made myself (@onceuponasecondtime). This past year I’ve done a wonderfully deep dive into herbalism, its history, its modern uses, and its folklore. I’ve read voraciously on historical fashion and flowers, plants, and herbs. While I haven’t been especially social with people, I’ve developed quite a relationship with the forest behind my house. I’ve walked its paths in each season, seen it grow from bud and leaflet to flower and fruit; I’ve seen it get ready for the fall, and prepare for the needed lengthy rest of the winter. I’ve sat next to the towering ash tree in our yard, thankful for the shade it provided during hot summer days, and listened to the wind going through its branches for hours and it’s allowed me to meditate for the first time in my life. I’ve learned so much about myself and what really matters to me. I feel like I’ve found my centre.  

Consider, dear reader, that perhaps isolation can be an act of self-care.

Maybe, like the forest I’ve come to know, I needed this long rest before I could spring out again, make a new and longer rope tether for my anchor, and venture out of my sanctuary once more.