Choosing Solitude 7-23-13

Queen Charlotte Sound, British Columbia

It’s easy to have a conception of passengers on cruise ships being happy, wealthy, connected, and free of the cares of life; advertising agencies do their jobs very well. The past weeks have clearly demonstrated many of these passengers to be none of these things. I’ve sat in the 12th deck chapel daily the past weeks and heard astounding tales of woe; virtually all of it self made. I never cease to be amazed at how people seek out ways to import chaos into their lives, driven by some in-born messages telling them they deserve nothing better and being alone is a consummate failure.

In working with those in recovery I often end up hearing a lot of life stories; somehow becoming a magnet for those in crisis. Perhaps they see me as harmless with little capacity to add to their chaos and angst. I’m inclined to take this view as a compliment rather than an insult. A long time ago time ago I gave up any vain hopes of becoming virile, buff, or a specimen of manhood to display on the glossy pages of Body Builder; despite my daily pilgrimages to the gym.

Circumstances on my recent voyages have me in close proximity to a number of individuals creating a lot of chaos in their own lives and now creating it out here on the high seas. Over the weeks, watching passengers develop relationships which should never have gotten started, I observe long-standing friendships fraying, resentments being fueled, and the soil of emotional injury being well tilled. I find myself needing a break from it all.

Perhaps the most satisfying meal I had four years ago on a voyage to Russia was in the elegant Tsar’s dining room by myself. Taking a paperback copy of Henri Nouwen’s The Return of the Prodigal with me as a companion I slowly read my way through a five course feast, sitting in an obscure corner of the dining room. Over a couple hours assorted staff would attend to my minimal needs. Nouwen’s book describes the encounter he had with Rembrandt’s epic painting “The Return of the Prodigal” hanging in the Hermitage Museum; useful preparation for my own encounter with the masterpiece a couple days hence.

Here weeks into another voyage I found myself having a mini-retreat in the back corner of another elegant dining room. With one of Oliver Sack’s grand clinical tales, The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat, as a companion I had the most satisfying meal of my present voyage. With Sacks as a vicarious companion I slowly read my way through a five course feast, sitting in an obscure corner of the dining room. Over a couple hours assorted staff would attend to my minimal needs. I was having a splendid episode of déjà vu. I suddenly realized staff members were clearing up the dining room and resetting it for another day. I was the last diner in a place closed an hour earlier. I left feeling refreshed and at peace.

A number of my confidants in recent weeks have admitted to being phobic about being alone and their willingness to be in abusive immoral relationships to avoid being solitary. In recovery, catastrophic relapse and life failure often are outgrowths of willingness to enter destructive relationships in order to avoid being alone. Millions are willing to give up the promises of a better way of life in order to assuage phobias about being alone. Sobriety so often shipwrecks on the rocks of chaotic relationships, ones often medicated with drugs and alcohol. Perhaps, this explains why there are eighteen bars within a short walk of where I’m writing this.

In the recovery community we speak of learning to be comfortable in our own skins, being comfortable with who God made us to be, no longer overly dependent on others for affirmation and a personal sense of self-worth. We advise newcomers of the merits of not entering new relationships for at least a year. Sobriety comes first. A few heed this advice and are usually rewarded with spectacular progress in the rebuilding of their lives. Alas, most do not pay attention to our suggestions and often end up giving away their life gains in catastrophic ways. On this present journey I’ve witnessed a number of alcoholics with years of sobriety choose to give it away and reenter an ocean of chaos, getting three sheets to the bitter sub-arctic wind. Ill-advised relationships are right there in the center of the mix.

Sitting here on an eighty thousand ton love boat, it would be easy to feel like an outlier as a solo traveller eating in an elegant dining room by myself. I choose to pretend I am an observer of human behavior and objectify my experience. I’m here to photograph the world, write about what I see, read good books, go to the gym every day, and learn to be comfortable in my own skin. Along the way I ask God to enable me to share experience, strength, and hope with those who have it in short supply.

As I watch women roaming around on deck mid-morning with wine bottle in one hand and goblet in the other, I realize the shortest way to contentment and happiness is learning to be comfortable in my own skin, seeing God as the best possible companion. Married women, expensive jewelry, and jugs of wine will never teach me that. Perhaps the likes of Henri Nouwen and Oliver Sacks can teach me much more about being fully human and present to life.

In my present case solitude includes all the lobster I want. I’m feeling very comfortable at present … think I will take a nice nap, letting the ocean rock me to sleep.

Blessings,


Craig C. Johnson