Become a Hermit for a Day

I often wonder when I became a hermit. Not, actually, in real life, mind you, but in my heart’s home. I used to be an extrovert, drawing energy from the crowd. Now, I sip on a sunrise and savor the silence.

A day alone delights me. Even though my husband is off to work on the weekend, I rise early with gliding fingers of thought that eventually wrap around my pen. Starched ideas—fresh from a renewed mind—cloth me when I write, when I rest, and when I create.

Dianne Polome’s recent post, “Give Yourself Permission,” impacted me. She gets and expresses the crazy compulsion to clean clutter instead of to create. The struggle to give oneself permission. Here’s an excerpt from her insightful post:

“Some people would identify this as the choice between the urgent and the important. For me, it’s more a matter of permission. The image came to mind of the hall passes we used to get in junior high and high school. As long as you had that all-important little pink slip, you were allowed to be in the hallway or library. So I decided to make myself a “creativity pass”! My hope is that it will serve as a tangible reminder to give myself the permission to go ahead and play.

So . . . what do you need to give yourself permission to do?”

Created by Dianne Polome

We creative eclectics often need to snap off tendrils of co-dependency that wrap around our writing and painting arms and polarize our pens and paintbrushes:

Career demands
Relational drama
Family frenzy

Life’s fluff collects in our spiritual eyes and blurs our vision.

So today, I encourage you to get out your calendar and clear a day to be a hermit:

Move or cancel appointments—don’t double book your day
Put off time thieves (housework, shopping, errands) that rob days from your creative life
Resist the urge to schedule company, clean out clutter, or indulge in couch potato nothings

If an entire day overwhelms you because of straddling time alone and real life, start small.

My creative life begins with early morning writing. I’ve discovered a cluttered soul blocks the flow. Writing is to my soul’s health what eating is to my body’s strength or prayer is to my spirit’s stamina. I give the first fruits of my day to a non-negotiable time with God, my pen, and my spiral notebook. End of excuses.

Often I sit and just listen. Sometimes the morning is wordless. Heaven does not always whisper along with the songbirds welcoming the sunrise. Nor do thoughts continually flow through my pen. But regardless, I sit and give writing her due diligence.