Journal of a Solitude
by: May Sarton
Beauty. Intellect. Loneliness. Freedom. Tremendous and deep growth. All words flow to the top of my head when asked to describe the word “solitude”. I believe that every book is perfectly timed. By some supernatural essence, books will consistently search for you for days, or in this case, many years. When found, the book will be so overjoyed to have found you and that you can jump for joy together. Laugh together. Dance and cry as one. Share secrets as if you have been lifelong friends.
This book was recommended to me several years ago. It sounded interesting to me then, however, I didn’t go out of my way to order it or look for it in a bookstore. It didn’t even make the bottom of my priority reading list. I captured a photo of my friend’s copy and I’ve held onto that moment in time. I’ve known about these journals for a while. All it took was an old used bookstore in Fishers, Indiana. My eyes grazed across every old, cracked spine. I wasn’t originally going to even bother with the back of the store. However, my sisters and I were trying to waste time so I slowly made my way through section after section of poetry, science fiction, biographies, and every book on sexual discovery. Nothing was found until the dusty back corner called my name and I found May Sarton’s journals. Memories flooded back immediately and I was suddenly about to enter the ark of Sarton’s mind. I was excited. Nervous. Intimidated. Let me explain why.
I don’t think I’ve ever truly known solitude until this point in my life and I still don’t think I’m even close to knowing everything about her. She keeps her cards close and her hair tightly pulled back. However, she’s revealed little by little of the beauty and heartbreak of living alone. Until these past several months, I don’t think I’ve been introduced to solitude because I’ve never had to be alone for long periods. At the ripe age of 23, I still don’t experience a lot of moments purely alone. However, something changed a while back. A situation that allowed me to shake hands with loneliness and begin to get to know them. This is where solitude comes in. May Sarton searched for my heart and embraced me right when I needed her.
“That is what is strange-that friends, even passionate love, are not my real life unless there is time alone in which to explore and to discover what is happening or has happened.”
Sarton is a poet and novelist. Although this wasn’t the first series of journals that she published, these words were provided for us over the duration of her sixtieth year, and seem to be the most popular among critics and reviewers. Eugenia Thornton describes,
This journal is not only rich in the love of nature and the love of solitude. It is an honorable confession of the writer’s faults, fears, sadnesses, and disappointments.
Not only does Sarton choose to write of solitude and loneliness, but there are many themes of feminism, homosexuality, mental illness, and politics taking place in the life of someone turning sixty years old. They are discussed in the journal with such care and passion. Sarton’s drive and anger toward issues going on in her life were evident as you flipped through every page. Not only are you reading her words and innermost thoughts, you are living in the shoes of another. Her voice was so clear, confident, and wise. She is a woman of tender grit and lovely vocabulary.
She speaks of women in the workplace. Girlfriends of hers that are married and unfulfilled. Women that choose to stay at home because that is their contentment, their gift. She quotes her friends often. She quotes conversations between women who speak of this hole in their lives. It is also worth noting that these entries were published in the seventies, a peak time of women with their eyes opened. A time when the fog was finally beginning to clear. A time when living alone as a female was unheard of. Women start to notice how they have lost themselves. Confusion seeped into the open cracks of wives everywhere and Sarton had the towel, prepared to clean up what was broken. May Sarton was their listening ear.
“Roles should no longer be assigned on the basis of sex or of any preconceived idea of marriage, but should grow organically from the specific needs of two human beings and their capacities and gifts. No partner in a love relationship should feel that he has to give up an essential part of himself to make it viable.”
As much as the impact Sarton made on me positively, she also wrote consistently about what it means to be lonely. Of what it means to walk into a house that doesn’t feel like your own. The longing of wanting a street cat to come inside, but having to gain its trust. The agony of a day when you have to withhold a conversation. How making your bed can feel like going to Hell and back. She opened something in me and softened my fear because as we grow richer with age, we will continue to keep learning. We will continue to have trials. Tests. We will still have to walk against the current some days, maybe months. I will still have insecurities at sixty years old. Maybe I will still be walking hand in hand with solitude. However, Sarton also revealed a beauty in time alone. She has flaws and weaknesses, but because of these, she is made stronger. There is delight in the areas that I am still working out for good.
I would recommend May Sarton’s words to anyone who is or is feeling extremely alone. I would recommend this book to people who are filled with contentment and community too! Her words are ones of longing and desperation. There are going to be multiple days of winter with an occasional glimpse of sun. However, spring will come. This is what I was reminded of in the Journal of a Solitude. I have a dusty, hidden book corner to thank for that.