Written June 22nd:
I’ve spent the past 19 days
with my dog, home alone and holding down the fort while my parents went gallivanting through
Europe for their 30th wedding anniversary. Considering I spent all
last fall gallivanting through Europe, and considering it’s a pretty great
accomplishment to stay married to someone for 30 years, I sent them off with
much excitement. They were visiting some places I’d been to in the fall (Rome,
Cinque Terre, Pisa) and I LOVED that we shared that, that I knew exactly where
they were going. I could picture the view in front of St. Peter’s Basilica in
Rome, picture the Crayola-colored houses of Cinque Terre, picture the baptistery
and church in Pisa that never make it into the pictures, but are right there
next to the leaning tower. So, I waved them out of the driveway with a “have
fun! Be adventurers! Don’t worry about a thing, I won’t burn the house down!”
Commence home alone experience. You really find out what
kind of person you are when you live all alone in a big ole’ house for a few
weeks. Can you roll over and nod off when you hear creaking
around the house, or are you more the axe-wielding type? I thought I’d be the latter,
but it turns out I’m the former. I’d made a plan that, worse comes to worse, I’d
fend off an intruder with the nearest heavy object - which turned
out to be either a Bible or a handheld vacuum cleaner. But never once did I
roam the house, vacuum in one hand, phone in the other ready to dial 911.
Being alone, still, and
silent for extended periods of time is something we as a society are afraid of, I think. We stick earbuds in and crank up the volume, scared of what thoughts we might have to face in the silence, what person or question might come to mind if we take a second to let ourselves be still. What a paradox it is that the sound of silence can be louder than the
noisiest of crowds. I struggle with this as much as the next person, but the perfect opportunity was placed before me (story of my life this
summer, but more on that another day) to spend some time in silence and
solitude, and I chose to say yes, to say thank you, opportunity, for knocking
at my door. Let’s see what you’re made of.
Opportunity knocked.
Responsibility called. And I answered. Student, preschool teacher, athlete,
repairwoman, exterminator, gardener, chef extraordinaire, chief of security,
dog walker, pool girl. Phew, it’s been quite the few weeks. Being the sole Hagen in
El Dorado Hills taught me a lot about myself and the people that surround me. I
need both my fingers and my toes to count how many people came over to visit,
skyped with me, called me to check in, and told me ‘if you need ANYTHING, you
call us.’ To have that kind of community – I am thankful, my heart is full.
My home alone routine?
Dinner Dates: Every night
I chose who I wanted to eat dinner with – Richard Castle, TED Talks, Sister
Bertrille, the opportunities were endless. I also learned that I’ll eat a whole lot of broccoli for dinner – just
broccoli – and then wonder why I’m starving 2 hours later. Duh, Emily. Protein,
gotta work on that.
No one was there to stop me,
so I baked cookies and cobblers at 11 pm. I hosted concerts for my dog every
night while doing the dishes, belting out the tunes like nobody's business.
My lawn mowing skills
improved from mowing like a drunken sailor to mowing like a sober person (yay
progress!). I almost fell in the pool while checking the pool chemicals. How
embarrassing, I can’t believe I’m even sharing that.
Ant Invasion: I fended off a few hundred ants in an ant invasion in the laundry room like a boss.
Those ants didn’t know what hit them. They won’t be messing with Emily Hagen
anytime soon, I'll leave it at that.
Full days led to full nights. I didn't live monk-status for 19 days, but I made sure the TV wasn't always on. I gave my mind time to wander, my heart time to search, my feet the chance to walk and explore, my eyes the chance to open and see the world anew.
It’s easy to be scared when
you’re alone, to be scared that no one cares, that everyone else is at some
great party that you didn’t get invited to. It’s easy to push the silence away
with the touch of a button, refusing to slow down, refusing to listen, refusing
to face the questions or feelings we’ve been running from all along. There’s
something about silence, about being alone, that is both wonderful and
terrifying.
There exist two types of
silences, I think. The cold, lonely silence and the rich, filling silence. One
leaves you feeling small and empty inside. The other, satisfied and comforted.
We were meant to live in community, of that I
am more than certain. But, in one of the great paradoxes of life, it is equally
important to stand on your own two feet, to silence your own racing heart, to be comfortable in your own skin and to own the silence.
I am learning. More and
more.
To be comfortable in who I
am I must remember whose I am. Ephesians 2, anyone?
The silence I felt was incredibly filling, incredibly rich. It felt full, this silence,
full and thick with possibility and wonder and growth. The world is a big, big
place. There are places to go, things to do, people to meet and share life
with. There are callings to be found, adventures to be had. It’s a big world,
and the future is very bright.
In Home Alone Kevin McAlister says, “This is my house and I have to defend it!” That boy knows what's up, he wraps up my feelings in one dramatic sentence. The home is still standing.
I am alive. The dog is alive. Success.
Over and out from the Hagen
household. As much as I enjoyed my sojourn living alone, I’m grateful to have
some company back in this house...and some pesto and pasta from Cinque Terre just waiting to be cooked.
It’s 105 degrees in the
shade here. I hope it’s cooler wherever you’re at, friend. Thanks for sticking with
my ramblings this long, you're a champ.
Here’s to you and to me, to
finding who we are and whose we are. And to answering the door with joy and grace, even when you don’t
know what’s knocking.
