Lately, I have been aware of something I had not named before.
I miss being with myself.
Nothing dramatic has happened. Life is as it has been. I am working, teaching, meeting people, having conversations. From the outside, nothing is lacking.
And yet, underneath it all, there is a quiet sense that I have been spending more time out there than in here.
It did not arrive all at once. It came through small moments. A conversation with a friend who is also in her sixties, noticing a similar change. A growing desire not to be out and about all the time. A preference for being closer to home, closer to quieter spaces, closer to myself.
And perhaps the arrival of spring has made me notice it more.
The lighter mornings.
The softer air.
The feeling of wanting to walk again without rushing anywhere.
Over the past few weeks, I have realised how much I value walking alone. Not because I want to disconnect from people, but because I need moments where I can hear myself again.
For a long time, my life has been outward facing. Holding space, listening, teaching, supporting. These things are meaningful to me and still are. But I can also see that when life becomes too outward for too long, something inside begins to feel distant.
Walking alone has become a way of returning.
No pressure to speak.
No need to respond.
No expectation to be anything for anyone.
Just the quiet rhythm of walking, noticing the trees changing, hearing birds again after winter, feeling my body settle as I move.
There is something about spring that gently invites that return.
Not in a dramatic way.
Not as transformation.
Just as a soft remembering.
A remembering that I, too, need space.
I think there comes a point in life where being constantly engaged no longer feels nourishing in the same way. Not because life is wrong, but because something quieter is asking for attention.
And for me, that quiet is not loneliness.
It is presence.
It is being able to sit with myself without needing to fill the space. It is noticing my thoughts as I walk. Feeling my body relax. Allowing myself to simply be where I am.
I do not think this is about withdrawing from life.
If anything, I think it allows me to return to life more honestly.
When I spend time with myself, I feel more anchored when I meet others. More present. Less stretched between demands.
What is changing is not necessarily my life.
It is my relationship with myself within it.
Perhaps this is something that comes with age.
Or perhaps it is something we only notice when we finally slow down enough to hear it.
Either way, I am beginning to understand that walking alone is no longer just something I enjoy.
It is something I need.
Not to escape life.
But to come back to myself.
