Solitude can be a strange and powerful experience. For some, it may invoke a sense of loneliness, but for me, it is an invitation to reconnect with the parts of myself that get lost in the shuffle of daily responsibilities. Sitting on the dock, overlooking Lake Charlevoix, I’m reminded of the beauty of quietude, of being alone without feeling lonely. There’s a certain freedom in it—freedom from the need to be anything or anyone in particular.

It’s just me, the water, and my thoughts.

There’s a certain stillness staring out at the water. It’s as if time slows down, and I’m no longer tethered to the demands of everyday life and expectations of others. The noise fades, replaced by the soft lapping of the water against the shoreline behind me and the occasional rustle of wind through the changing colors of the trees. In this moment of solitude, I feel more connected to myself than ever.
I often find myself reflecting on the simplicity of nature. The water doesn’t rush; it ebbs and flows in its own rhythm, completely unconcerned with schedules or expectations. There’s something deeply comforting about that. It reminds me that I, too, am allowed to be still, to not always have an agenda or deadline. In a world that constantly pushes to be productive and purposeful, sitting on the dock feels like an act of quiet rebellion, a reminder that I am enough even when I am simply being.

My stillness and solitude on the dock gives me space to process my emotions. In the busyness of life, it’s easy to avoid confronting what’s really going on inside. I distract myself with writing, with people, with endless to-do lists. But here, with nothing but the sound of water and wind, there’s no avoiding the thoughts and feelings that surface. At times, they come gently—a soft tug of contemplation from the past. Other times, emotions surging up like waves, demanding my full attention. And in that solitude, I allow myself to meet whatever comes.

Being alone in this way also helps me realize how much I’ve been conditioned to fill every moment with noise. Whether it’s the hum of social media, the constant barrage of news, or the endless stream of tasks, there’s always something pulling my attention. But sitting on the dock, none of that seems to matter. There is no urgency, no need to respond or engage. The world continues turning without me, and I find peace in knowing that I can step away from it all and return to myself.

In these moments of solitude, I find clarity. It’s as if the water reflects not just the sky, but my own thoughts, too. The answers I’ve been searching for—the ones I didn’t even know I needed—seem to rise to the surface. Whether it’s a decision I’ve been wrestling with or an sensation I’ve been trying to suppress, the stillness of the dock gives me the space to hear what’s really going on inside.

Ultimately, sitting on the dock in solitude is a form of self-care. It’s a way of reminding myself that it’s okay to pause, to breathe, to let go of the need to be constantly doing. It’s in these quiet moments that I realize the importance of stillness in solitude—not as something to be feared or avoided, but as a necessary part of the human experience. It’s where I find myself again, stripped of all the distractions, just me and the gentle rhythm of life unfolding around me.