On Solitude And Dignity: Why We All Need Rites Of Passage
As a young adult, I felt mildly repulsed by older people who seemed to themselves feel repulsed by their age. As an intellectually, psychologically, and philosophically driven person, I have always longed for the wisdom that comes with experience. To witness people in their 30's, 40's, 50's and beyond express embarrassment about their age was befuddling. Did they not feel they had earned their wrinkles? Were they not proud of their life experience? What made the relative superficiality of the life of a 20-something seem more appealing than gracefully occupying their standing in life and all that came with it?
I am now at an age where I am coming to understand this phenomenon from within. On a physical level, there are the first gray hairs; the faint foreshadowing of deeper wrinkles to come; the yellowing teeth; the slowing metabolism; the aching joints, demanding ever more self-care. Beyond that, all my efforts and experiences in life up until now, from the foolish to the brilliant, weigh upon me a gravitational influence. Given the pitfalls as well as virtues of my character, living with the consequences of my actions is both an obligation and a privilege.
The process of maturation can be subtle and difficult to define until one lives it. As the cliche goes, "if I knew then what I know now," I would have made different choices. Then again, I could not have known. And had I made those choices then, I would now be somewhere other than here.
Throughout my life, solitude has been prevalent. I have grown skillful at embracing it, of necessity; who is to say now which part is choice? Had I not learned to find comfort and wisdom in my own solitary company, I may not have survived certain chapters. Much of my success today relies on my ability to wield this skill. Although at times the pain of choiceless isolation was searing, today I have built a life around being able to access my gifts through abundant solitary reflection.
And so I took a trip this summer I hope to evolve into an annual tradition. I brought myself to a tranquil alpine lake, where the air is the purest I ever breathe. The only sounds I hear there are the whoosh of wind through trees, the lapping of water upon rocks, the roar and crackle of campfire. My skin is warmed by sunlight, cooled by wind. My feet touch soil and stone and lakebed. The only items I am responsible for are those I have brought with me for comfort and necessity. My eyes are fed by beauty all around. I allow my mind to rest as I gaze across the lake, into the clouds and the full moon rising behind trees, and up into the stars above, seeing across time and space to stars twenty-five to two thousand light-years away. Gazing into that calm, clear water is the closest thing I do to pray, and the inner voices that counsel me there are the closest things I hear to God.
In this annual trip, I saw myself over time. I allowed spaciousness for my mind, soul, and ego to catch up with my body, the events of my life, and where they have brought me. I saw myself now, a different person as I have been in the past; but I may not have noticed were it not for the sojourn. I reflected on the nuances of my own thought processes, independent of anyone else's, recognizing them as distinct from even those public voices and friends with whom I may once have felt most philosophically and politically adjacent. "Ahh," an inner voice spoke softly, "this is maturity."
Gazing across that rippling lake, the aging sun and winds of change upon my face, in the closest thing I do to prayer, I consciously embraced my own maturation. I acknowledged that I am no longer young; I am fully an adult in midlife. Receptively, I set an intention to accept my age and stage in life with grace. I gently grieved and said goodbye to aspects of my past self that are no longer so much with me in my day-to-day. I allowed notions and images and felt sensations, many of them preverbal, to percolate to the surface of my mind, of the beauty and virtue of my midlife self, and the doors that are open to her.
I believe rites of passage are essential to marking chapters in a dignified human life. They have been baked into many cultures, from the Mexican quinceañera to the Jewish bar and bat mitzvahs to the Catholic first communion to many First Nations rituals. Perhaps it is ironic that American culture is one of the most highly individualistic cultures on the planet (on a sociological spectrum ranging from individualistic to collectivistic), and yet the only rites of passage we have are social: marking relationship transitions with weddings, the birth of new family members with baby showers, and so on. Yet as a whole, acknowledging the maturation of an individual is missing from American culture - a culture that, for the most part, values the vanity of youth and all things fast and fun over wisdom. Oftentimes it is not until one's death and subsequent funeral that the somber significance of their life on Earth is recognized. Perhaps, on some esoteric level, many depressed individuals' longing for death represents a desire for this solemn acknowledgment of their own significance. And so, in the absence of any tradition provided by one's social group, it is up to us as individuals to create these rituals for ourselves.
I invite you to consider granting yourself the gifts of solitude, silence, and stillness, to reflect on your place in time and space. Acknowledge and embrace your position within the web of life. If you feel called, pray for grace in doing so. Ask your higher power, however you conceive it to be, or your innermost self, to assist you in seeing yourself through clear and compassionate eyes. Allow yourself to evolve, and to arrive in your present day shoes.
