i miss the boonies: quiet, slow, peaceful
I crave quietness. Peace. Stillness.
Looking back, the first place I moved to, on my own at age 22, was a city next to Joshua Tree, California. My friends at the time would call it the 'boonies'.
No one understood my sudden move to this remote town, and my family was shocked that I didn't consult with anyone, that I already secured my lease and would be moving there next week.
Something deep within me craved that silence. I'm beginning to understand that it's less of a craving but more of a becoming.
I can't quite put my finger on it, but in the stillness, I know there lies my greatness. Something divine, something holy. Where everything is 'alright' in the world, where I am embodied and whole.
So, if I had such a great hunch at that young age, why did I flee the sanctuary of nature? Breaking away from the eldest daughter role in my Filipino family to forge an independent life was more destabilizing than liberating.
While I knew that the time away from everything and everyone was desired, to suddenly detach from everything I knew was all too foreign and unsettling.
I didn't know how to be alone and I cried a lot. It was both pathetic and cathartic, reaching my independence without anyone to celebrate with.
Maybe I didn't want to be alone alone, but to be alone with people that were safe. Trust-worthy. To be around people who also valued peace and quiet. I didn't know anyone who offered that. In retrospect, I didn't even know how to offer that to myself.
Chaos was all I knew at the time, and unfortunately, it became my measurement of normalcy. It would take me years to comprehend that my body was summoned to deserted, underpopulated places for that sense of stillness and slowness.
Now in my 30s, I realize my body pulling me towards solitude yet again.
As I recover from burnout, forfeiting the 'hustle', the call to retreat to nature becomes louder. More persistent. Unrelenting.
Reading In Praise of Retreat by Kirsteen MacLeod prompted me to look up that faithful house I first moved to. The house I haven't seen in almost a decade.
The place remains unchanged. I remember my brief time there and how important it was, even if it was a short period of my life. I contemplate convincing my husband to move back to the area — it is relatively affordable. We could be our best hermit selves there, hiking at the National Park and enjoying our hobbies and pastimes without the looming stress and demands of urban living.
But maybe that's just a dream everyone fantasizes about — escaping from reality, seeking respite in some remote location.
I'm not convinced that moving back to isolation would solve everything, but something in me yearns to reconnect with that quietness.
In the meantime, I ponder on how to live more simply and more slowly right where I am.
Thanks for being here.
Sincerely,
Nadine ♥