Last fall I went on a solo retreat. I was at the tail end of a busy period at work and trying to carve out time to put the final touches on a years-long research project. I have a history of high writing productivity when traveling and/or staying at with friends, and I hoped that getting away for a few days would spark the same results. I’m not usually fussy when it comes to lodging, but after thinking through what I needed to be most productive I allowed myself some amenities: a full kitchen, a pretty view, and a soaker tub.
Before I left I also mapped out the closest walking trail and was happy to discover it was in the same area as my rental. As an over-planner I may have mapped out a few other trails as well. At the last minute, and on the threat of rain, I threw some resistance bands into my travel gear and called it good. I had a long list of goals for these 4 days away and I felt some guilt going into the trip. It was an investment in myself, my work, and my words that I am not used to making. I felt guilty for spending money on a rental and I felt guilty for not being able to “just do it” and finish the project with my normal day-to-day schedule. The part of my brain that loves to tell a good “imposter syndrome” story got a lot of mileage out of that guilt and I went into the weekend feeling anxious that I wouldn’t reach my (sort of unrealistic) goals.
The first afternoon I unpacked all of my work gear. Laptop, notecards, books, notebooks, pens. The resistance band landed right next to all of that on my workspace. And then I climbed into that big soaker tub and let the little hamster in my brain tire herself out on the thought-wheel. I quickly realized that what I needed was rest. Deep and true rest. Time away from the pressure and stress of the everyday to be still. I worked on believing that even if a single word didn’t get written the retreat would still be a “success.” It wasn’t easy, but I let that need for stillness be my guide.
I spent the rest of that time being gentle with myself. I napped. I soaked. I stretched. I did yoga. I watched some high-drama tv. I read (fiction and non-fiction). And I wrote. I did not walk. I barely made it further than the deck or driveway most days. I made time to catch up with a friend living overseas. I soaked more. I napped again. And I wrote.
Clearing up the clutter and removing the never-ending chores list of daily life gave me the space and the freedom to do what my body needed. Rest. Think. Create. Breathe. Any movement that happened was intentionally slow, focused on breath work and the mind-body connection. I wish I could say the words poured out of me, but that isn’t my typical experience with writing (though I remain hopeful!) I left with an almost complete document and a solid outline of the remainder, and being so close to finished made it easier to carve out the remaining time needed by the impending deadline.
More important than finishing that project (which was pretty darn important) was learning a little more about myself and what restores me. I went into that trip thinking it was a “one and done” experience, focused specifically on that task. Instead I left knowing it would be an experience I would repeat. I leave in a few days for this year’s retreat and I’ve already mapped out the nearest walking trails and packed up my creative/writing project. It isn’t as time-sensitive as the last one, but I hope it will be even more fulfilling.
Do you plan a solo getaway when you are able? What is your focus on those retreats? Any recommendations on great destinations?
Amy Smith is a professor of Media & Communication and a communication consultant who lives north of Boston. Her research interests include gender communication and community building. Amy spends her movement time riding the basement bicycle to nowhere, walking her two dogs, and waiting for it to get warm enough for outdoor swimming in New England.
