Blissful Loneliness

The day I decided I needed to be alone was no particular day. I went to work as usual, the train rattling past miles of oblivion as I yawned into the smudged window. My heels clattered, as they always did, against the slippery tiles of the lobby floor. I spun around and around in my office chair, the threads slowly easing their way apart from each other. And my fingers tapped quickly against my laptop, the sound like falling rain. 

Another email.

Another phone call.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, as a torrent of texts came rushing in. Probably from my mother. She liked to send texts in droves. 

Everyone was talking around me. The sound of it was ubiquitous, the chatter, the whinging, the giggling, the fake laughter, the yelling. I felt as though I were trapped in a glass box, surrounded by speakers booming unintelligible words at me from all sides. Talking and talking, until I wanted to collapse on the ground with my hands pressed against my ears.

That was when I took a good look at myself. When the words what am I doing, which had been slowly inking their way across my mind, finally bled into a complete tattoo.

The red “X” on the corner of each document on my screen gleamed invitingly at me. I took the bait, leaving nothing but my emails open as I hammered out a letter of sickness. 

That’s when I let every germinating seed of technology in my life shrivel up and die.

As I strutted out of the building, past the blank faces of people who didn’t care about my life, I felt the corners of my mouth spiral upwards into a smile. The stench of the pollution outside clung sickeningly to my nostrils, reminding me of all the waste that I was so desperate to escape. But I didn’t care. Soon that smell, the one that teased my stomach into curdling, would be banished from my life.

I knew where I wanted to go. I could almost feel the wind against my hair, the horizon in my eyes, the silence in my ears.

At home, I packed, the noises of the cars beeping and skidding and children wailing outside stabbing at my head like pincers, bleeding me of my patience. The sounds of miserable monotony and the omnipresence of human life continued for miles. Everywhere I went, there was a person. Nowhere in sight could I find an empty landscape, a clean sheet of grass, a skyline without a skyscraper. My car couldn’t take me away fast enough, as it grumbled all the way to Dartmoor.

***

The last possible echoes of humanity slipped by me as I crossed over the first field. The gate shut behind me as I trekked deeper and deeper into the wild. The trees were thick brushstrokes of green against the vibrant landscape, the dying weeds a tangle of yellow. The further I went, the more empty the world became. The trees vanished, as if they had never been there at all. Hills rolled their way up to the bright blue sky, the sun beating gloriously down from above me. Enormous rocks positioned themselves halfway up each hill, as though they had started rolling down and gotten stuck. They were hot like metal under the golden heat.

My back ached from the weight of my bag. My throat burned with thirst. Every drop of water was as sweet as honey gliding down my throat. The brim of my hat only just protected my face against the sun’s glare, as I felt my exposed skin slowly beginning to sizzle.

The landscape was a moving painting. Squares of dark and light green stood together across each hill like a chessboard. Grasses as straight as swords grazed the air as they swayed in the breeze, stretching on and on as far as my eyes could reach. The lonely hills were giants of peace, decorated with tufts of gorse which prickled and scraped at my bare ankles. 

Grasshoppers chirruped quietly in my ears. Sheep kept on appearing suddenly out of the gorse. Their curious blackberry eyes would stare at me, wide and full. Gently, they would meander through the grass towards me, their wool itchy with dirt, and then turn and dart back through the plants, as though they had never been there at all.

Wide rivers striped across the landscape, speckled with boulders like freckles. I had never seen rocks so huge in my life. Squinting against the bright light, I had to leap across each one, my boots splashing threateningly against their slippery surfaces. The scent of the minerals from the water was overpowering. It was clear and cold, like a mirror. I was terrified of falling in, my face painted with concentration as I calculated each step, moving slowly from stone to stone. 

I never did fall. Each time, I got to the other side, my boots kissing the spiky grass, and my soul unwinding itself slightly in relief as I did so.

It was a landscape devoid of human speech. If ears could sigh, mine would have done. It was desolate. No trees to hide behind, only the gorse knighted with tiny daggers at my feet challenged me with its prickles. I took each step carefully, planting my boots between the plants, never on them. They were unmarked, untrodden and holy. My heart ached at the thought of someone ploughing through, stepping anywhere, throwing their litter behind them as though nature should be grateful for their arrival. I wondered if nature had a mind, a soul. What would she say to them?

I sighed as the wind rushed under my hair, launching it backwards. Raising my eyes, I breathed in the pure serenity of my surroundings. 

There was a place beside a river, hours and hours away from where I had started walking. It had one space, just big enough for a tent, that the gorse had left untouched. The water gushed hurriedly between the small stones, constantly burbling. The sky was a warm blue above my head. Hills rose all around me in undulating walls, isolating me in this small valley. The ground was speckled with gorse, pinpricked with tiny yellow flowers. It was absolutely and completely isolated. Perfect. 

I set up my tent slowly. The sweat was dripping down my forehead and into my eyes as I struggled with the fastenings, squeezing each pole through the fabric. The sun concentrated itself on my back, the river cheering me on, until, finally, it stood up on its own. The sky was streaking itself with pink, as though an artist had suddenly pulled out their brushes and thought, I know, I’ll change this landscape to a sunset. 

The grass turned an orange-pink at my feet, as the air slowly crept colder. I pulled a jumper over my head, folding my arms and sitting like a sentry at the entrance to my tent. I watched the sun sink lower and lower, plunging my quiet little world into an inky darkness. The river gushed on beside me, an owl hooting somewhere in the distance. The sounds echoed through the valleys. And still, not a human noise within range. I found myself sighing again. This was blissful isolation, blissful silence. Not from the world itself. Just from people. 

The river kept hurrying past me, silver now in the reflecting light. The gorse and grass were dappled with bright white light. In the faraway distance of the sky, I could see the traced outline of stars gently winking at me. With each wink, they summoned me, as though they were using morse code. Curious, I wrapped a coat around my shoulders and headed for the hill.

Climbing was painful. Not the exercise, but the gorse. It grazed my ankles viciously, pulling me backwards, trying to force me back down the hill. But I ignored their attempts to control me, widening my steps, leaping when the prickles stretched on so wide that I couldn’t escape their grasp. 

Gusts of air rushed past my skin, curiously lukewarm, as though they hadn’t decided what temperature they wanted to be yet. They couldn’t be blamed. Out there, the darkness stretched on and on like a silk scarf, and nothing had to be done in a hurry. Time was a myriad of peaceful moments to be plucked at will.

Huge rocks shining with silver sat calmly at the top of the hill, facing the sky. Leaping onto one of them, I rested my back against its flat surface, the rock so huge my whole body could fit on it. It was as though nature were providing a bed for me.

Eyes wide, I stared upwards. And I was completely dazed.

Above me, the sky was suddenly covered with a frenzy of stars. The artist had put down their pink paintbrushes, and in doing so had knocked over a pot of silver glitter that covered the entire canvas. My eyes drew in the constellations, which gleamed down on me, blinking like wide eyes. My gasps held themselves as some stars shot across the ink, leaving arcing trails of white behind them. I was filled with a feeling of wonder. My body lost the ability to move, my eyes dancing from star to star as though they had never seen them before. And in honesty, they hadn’t. I had never really seen the stars until I went to Dartmoor. I don’t know what stars look like across the rest of the world, but I can tell you that there, on that hilltop, is where you can allow yourself to fall in love with the world.

From the very top of that high hill, even the sound of the river had extinguished itself. My ears were empty. My eyes were full. My body was warm. 

In those moments, I didn’t need to wish on any of those shooting stars. My wish had already come true.

I was in my own, beautiful piece of blissful loneliness.