Tag Archives: solitude

The Architecture of Bliss: Artist Anne Truitt on the Perfect Daily Routine and How Parenting Shapes Our Capacity for Savoring Solitude | Brain Pickings

The Architecture of Bliss: Artist Anne Truitt on the Perfect Daily Routine and How Parenting Shapes Our Capacity for Savoring Solitude | Brain Pickings.

I have settled into the most comfortable routine I have ever known in my working life. I wake very early and, after a quiet period, have my breakfast in my room: cereal, fruit, nuts, the remainder of my luncheon thermos of milk, and coffee. Then I write in my notebook in bed. By this time, the sun is well up and the pine trees waft delicious smells into my room. My whole body sings with the knowledge that nothing is expected of me except what I expect of myself. I dress, do my few room chores, walk to the mansion to pick up my lunch box (a sandwich, double fruit, double salad — often a whole head of new lettuce) and thermos of milk, and walk down the winding road to my Stone South studio.

At noon, I stop working, walk up through the meadow to West House, have a reading lunch at my desk, and nap. By 2:30 or so I am back in the studio. Late in the afternoon, I return to my room, have a hot bath and dress for dinner. It is heavenly to work until I am tired, knowing that the evening will be effortless. Dinner is a peaceful pleasure. Afterward I usually return to my solitude, happy to have been in good company, happy to leave it. I read, or write letters, have another hot bath in the semidarkness of my room, and sink quietly to sleep.

What a Piece of Work is a Man – Withnail & I

via Withnail & I Hamlet – YouTube.

I have of late – but wherefore I know not – lost all my mirth; and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o’erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appeareth nothing to me but a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculties! How like an angel in apprehension! How like a god! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals! Yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me: no, nor women neither. Nor women neither…