One morning a few months ago, I woke at 4 a.m., bounding out of bed in the small, strange room where I’d slept. I was on a solo retreat — designed, created, and curated all by me, a time when I discovered (again) how powerful solitude can be.
Less than a week earlier, the thought hadn’t yet occurred to me to go away by myself. My husband Barry and I were wrapping things up before going on an extended trip together. As I took care of details, my mind kept wandering back to a writing project I had been working on for years, one that was deeply important to me. But this obviously wasn’t the time, I told myself; I was too busy.
Or was I? No matter how much I tried to shrug it off, the project kept pestering me. Finally, I shut up and listened.
Three days later, I found myself at an Airbnb in a deep, focused flow — no interruptions, demands, or tasks. Once I got past all my excuses, organizing the retreat was easy.
I kept it simple, nearby, and low-budget
Some retreats are long in planning, but in my case, I would either do it that very week or wait months. Acting quickly works for me. It’s all too easy to overthink a decision, doubt myself, and change my mind.
With neither the time nor desire to spend hours driving, I settled on an Airbnb in a university town six miles away.
Being notoriously frugal, I also wasn’t about to shell out mega-bucks. The rental I found was basic but sufficient: a small bedroom with an armchair, a kitchen table, fridge, stove, bathroom, and shower. It cost all of $49, about $100 less than other rentals in the area.
“I don’t have time” is one of my excuses, but as it turned out, a small pocket of time was all I needed. Check-in was 3 p.m., check-out was noon, and less than a day was ample.
I remembered the power of mini-retreats from an old friend I had in the 90s. She would occasionally go to her husband around 4 p.m. on a Saturday, amid the bedlam of kids, and say, “Honey, I’m leaving. I’ll see you at church tomorrow.” She’d check into a nearby Comfort Inn for a night of reading, watching movies, eating take-out, and rest. The next morning, revived, she’d go back to being Mom.
I made my own rules and routine
“Retreat” has many connotations. For women, it often implies a pampered stay at a costly health spa. At the other extreme, I’ve suffered through austere meditation retreats where we each sat on our cushion all day, from before sunrise til bedtime, with only occasional breaks.
My retreat was somewhere in the middle — neither luxurious nor monastic. I used wifi, drank wine, and watched Netflix at night. I even scheduled an early-morning Zoom session with my Spanish tutor, knowing I’d have fun giving her all the juicy details about my time away.
Once I arrived, I made a cup of tea and decided on a routine: read, write, walk, edit, journal. Repeat.
I had brought my laptop, scribbled notes, typed drafts, and some old journals. I started by reading and underlining excerpts, then began to write. Time passed. Every so often throughout the day, I’d look up and remember there was a world out there.
I’d put on my walking shoes and head out into the hilly neighborhood streets, thinking and not-thinking, carrying a scrap of paper and pen in case an idea came to me — and of course, on each walk, something did. I knew my walks would be just as important to the process as the writing, because a change of environment always invigorates my creativity.
My short solo retreat helped me focus
My retreat was a huge, undiluted success. Thanks to my solitude, I had laser focus, and by the time I left, I could see what work lay ahead and the finish line. Indeed, six weeks later, my essay, created from the messy scraps I started with, was accepted for publication. But bigger even than the glow of acceptance was discovering how powerful a simple, brief retreat can be.
My 21 hours away — just shy of a full day — occurred during the week of my birthday, and it was the best gift I have ever received from anyone.
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