Everyone enjoys their alone time. I do get some. Hannah, as my carer, still goes off and does things with her friends and pursues her own calling at church as church warden and eco champion, although the latter not as much as she’d like. In those moments I get space. The kids may still be around so it’s not completely alone, but I can write, watch a show, play chess, or lose myself in a game, like WAO. That’s one kind of solitude, but not the type I want to talk about. There are two moments in my week where I feel genuinely free.
The first is my travel to church. It takes around an hour and a half to get there. 15 minutes from home to the station. The station expects you to arrive 10 to 20 minutes early when you book assistance online. This is for safety. If a train is cancelled or a lift is out of order and they need to book a taxi as cover. I usually arrive 10 minutes early. The staff know me well now. We chat, two actually talk about me as a friend, but there are moments where it’s just me. The train journey is around 20 minutes. From the station to church it’s a 36 minute walk, or in my case, roll. It’s a lot, but that hour and a half is mine.
It’s not perfect. The paths are bumpy. The curbs are deep. The physical strain is real. Yet mentally, it’s wonderful. I have my headphones on and listen to music or an audiobook. Perfect for emotional regulation and me as someone with ASD.. Sometimes I pretend I’m listening to something just to create a bubble of quiet. It may not have the comfort of home, but it has the comfort of solitude. It’s the one part of the week where the world feels paused and I can simply exist without expectation.
The second moment comes when meetings end late. I recently had three in one week and one of those were three meetings in one evening. I had to leave at 22:20pm or I’d have missed the last train home. The 36 minute walk back to the station and then the walk from my home station to my house is incredible. It’s late. It’s dark. I should probably worry about dangers, but I don’t. For the darkest places I have an industrial torch that would light the town up, so I’m not worried. The streets are quiet. Cars are few. People are tucked inside their homes. On that recent journey I saw three people in total. It was just me and the world.
There’s something grounding about that. I was rolling through Rochester close to midnight and the town felt like a ghost city. It was just me. I looked up at the stars and felt awe. The sky was so clear and the universe was on display. I noticed the houses, lights still glowing behind curtains. Cats darting across the road, enjoying their own version of night freedom. Everything felt still and peaceful. It’s rare to experience a town without noise, rush, or interruption. Normally, I’m either driving around people and getting frustrated at those who refuse to move, stare at me as if I’m the problem, make awkward jokes, or are oblivious to my existence. In these moments it’s just me and God. It’s so peaceful.
I know there are dangers in being out late, but in those moments are amazing. It’s not dramatic. It’s simply presence. If I was in danger and it was my time, I’d be with God. That’s not a wish for harm. It’s a recognition of trust. A recognition that solitude can be holy.
These moments are lovely. They’re my version of what others find in late night drives or quiet walks. My headphones sit over my ears, functioning like ear defenders, creating a sense of enclosure and safety. It’s a small space that belongs entirely to me while the town, world, and universe continue around me. It’s freedom, quiet, and solitude within life.
These moments remind me that even in a busy home, church, and calling, there are moments where I can breathe. I need to cherish these moments as gifts.
I said to Hannah that I don’t want to lose these when we change cars for a WAV. I know I’ve stopped driving and having a car like this will make life so much easier. It would take 30 minutes to get to church by car, be less physical than I have to endure on this normal journey, and give me a freedom to go anywhere I want and not just limited to those places I can reach via public transport. This time is too precious though. The journey, whether day or night, allows me to meet fantastic people and build relationships, but those quiet moments make it worth it.
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