All alone. “Tout seul” in French, it even has the sound of being alone. Everyone was going where I had already been. I was all alone for the day. I got on the bike, leaving my jacket behind. It was another glorious day with the sky a postcard blue. The white van from le Mas de Salel tooted its horn as it passed me on the road in the valley of the Sorgues river.
All alone. Whenever I wanted, I could stop for a photo if something caught my eye, read a sign about a 12th century chateau, or take a drink of water and a breath. I could go at my own pace, which meant slow when it came time to climb up those mountainous hills once again. There was no stress to return by a certain time. A place had been set in the courtyard, a picnic lunch awaiting my return.
It was quiet. It was marvelous. All kinds of thoughts and ideas churned around in my head.
All alone. It is an incredible gift, that space to listen for and follow one’s own whimsy and desire. We are social animals, and being with several or many is enriching for sure. But just like adding a touch of pepper to a dish, a little bit of being alone gives life a kick. 