Aloneship: In relationship, partnership, and companionship with ourselves

I recently hiked alone. The seven-mile trail, a serene walk on a spongy forest floor, slowly and more aggressively rising to become ankle-deep snow, ended 3,000 feet higher on the edge of ice-encrusted Annette Lake. I was hiking solo – the result of another spontaneous decision to head into the outdoors. 

I’ve actually gotten pretty good at seizing “wild hair” moments (I picture my hair mussed with the rush, standing on end with excitement and on fire with spontaneousness). In less than half an hour, I grabbed my boots, hiking poles, coat, hat and gloves, and my snowshoes (whose only contribution on the hike was to stab my hydration pack on the way back down), and headed out the door. 

I was solo because my wild hair moment didn’t leave much time to organize, much less time to call a friend. Also, this pandemic requires layer upon layer of decision-making. There is so much navigating to do, and sometimes it all seems overly complex. It certainly makes it harder to be spontaneous. Like everyone else, I now have to ask myself a series of questions: Who is in my COVID bubble? Do we drive separately? Where is the hand sanitizer? My mask? Is that slight tickle in my throat a symptom? How much risk am I taking? It’s exhausting. 

I headed out alone. 

The trail was longer than expected, and as I emerged from the comfort of the needle-covered trail and onto exposed snow fields, I heard no sounds and saw no one. My boots crunched on the snow, punctuated by hiking poles and the occasional slip on an icy rock or splash in a cold, mountain stream. 

Sounds traveled and echoed as they do in the snow, seemingly too loud – almost as if I ought to walk more quietly. For whom? My thoughts kept me company. Hearing my own footsteps, counting my breaths, and taking in the surrounding snowscape – it became meditative. 

The Pacific Northwest winter sun sets early, especially when surrounding mountain peaks obscure the last weakening rays of sun. As the afternoon waned and the temperature dropped, my thoughts shifted. How close was I to the turnaround point? Turnaround point – I like that. Midway works too, I suppose, but the return trek is usually faster. Turnaround point captures the sense of accomplishment – a turning toward home. 

Annette Lake, the turnaround point. I had arrived, and I didn’t linger. 

With the snow feebly reflecting the last of twilight, my return was hasty. Homeward bound, yet now I felt more alone. I had left the serenity of the lake behind, and my footsteps sounded rough and rushed. Gone was the meditative rhythm. Gone was the comforting silence. 

“Aloneship,” I whispered to myself. I felt alone, yet also companionship. Partnership, even. I am in a relationship with myself, I thought, which is arguably the most important relationship I have. 

Daylight fully retired, and with my rhythm more measured and focused, I reflected on this relationship we have with ourselves. Similar to our relationships with others, I suppose, it isn’t always easy. There are times when we aren’t going to like our own company very much. There are moments when we really wish we’d stop talking. There are moments when we crave the companionship of others, as well. 

I suppose there is a fine line between aloneship – time spent in relationship with ourselves – and loneliness. “I don’t get lonely when I know I have people who love me. It’s like I’m not alone,” texted my friend Scott, quite spontaneously, just as I wrote those words. Perhaps aloneship is as much about loving ourselves as having the love of others.

As with all relationships, I believe that aloneship takes commitment. It is an investment in time spent in the company of ourselves. Aloneship demands a willingness to be vulnerable with ourselves. It requires honest dialogue. Maybe we don’t need a wild hair moment in the wilderness, but we do need time for reflection – perhaps quietly walking, meditating, or journaling – if we are going to good companions and partners for ourselves. 

Aloneship – in relationship, partnership, and companionship with ourselves. I think I am going to take myself out for another hike soon. I need to get to know this guy a little better.