As a hot summer settles in I recall the years that I went up to St. Michael's College in Colchester, Vermont to teach a three-week course. It was wonderful to interact with both students and faculty, take a boat ride on nearby Lake Champlain, visit the Trapp Family Lodge which was only a half hour away and see a sunset on the Lake which according to Rudyard Kipling was only rivaled in beauty by the sunset on Lake Victoria in Africa.
Yet, as I look back, the surprising highlight of these practically yearly visits north was something quite ordinary: time and space alone. For one or two of the weeks my wife would visit, usually with one of our friends, so we could go out at night together for dinner, travel across the Lake to Ausable Chasm, or take a nice walk down College Street. Yet, she would always be clear that she felt it would be a good idea for me to have at least one week alone to write, reflect, and, well, just be.
During that week I found I would buy the morning The New York Times and after the morning class, stop for a cup of coffee and review the world's happenings and do their famous crossword puzzle, which made me feel brilliant from Monday to Wednesday (since these were the easy ones). Following that I would go back to the townhouse they gave me for the three weeks and simply sit quietly and maybe jot down a few reflections.
Lunch was then leisurely eaten with a mixture of faculty and students until it was time for the second class in the afternoon. After class: another space for reflection, writing, walking, or a nap and then dinner. Following dinner, another walk before the sun went down, after which I would hustle indoors so the mosquitoes didn't carry me off into the Green Mountains to completely finish their evening meal -- me.
The rhythm of time alone between good interactions and leisure was more than refreshing -- it was awakening! I had more than one surprising emotional or one might say mystical experience during these stays at St. Michael's. I found that after my time there, I felt more integrated somehow, more at ease with myself and those around me, I was on track.
This summer sabbath ended a number of years ago when I decided it was time to stop and make room for others to teach in my spot. I will get one final chance to go back next summer to make a final teaching trip to the region. The program I taught in for many years will end at that point. However, I am not nostalgic or upset because these journeys led me to realize that I must build into my life a "summer sabbath" not only during July and August but to some degree during the rest of the year as well.
The way I have done it is to plan times to breathe and reflect, walk along by myself, and more formally meditate. I live a fairly intense life given my two specialties as a psychologist -- the prevention of secondary stress (the pressures experienced by professional helpers and healers in reaching out to others) and the intimacy that occurs in teaching the integration of psychology and spirituality from a world religion's perspective. However, I have found that since I value time alone and in quiet so much since I see it as the element that enriches the quality of my life, I ensure that I have at least "crumbs of silence and solitude" during my day.
When people ask me how is this possible, I offer at least some of the following ideas with the hope that they will begin enjoying quiet time and, in turn, enjoy their lives more fully:
Take A Summer Sabbatical
Happy summer sabbatical!
Robert J. Wicks, who received his doctorate in psychology from Hahnemann Medical College and Hospital in Philadelphia, is on the faculty of Loyola University Maryland. His latest books include: Prayerfulness: Awakening to the Fullness of Life; Bounce: Living the Resilient Life; and Riding the Dragon: 10 Lessons for Inner Strength in Challenging Times. He is the author of the forthcoming book "Streams of Contentment: Lessons I Learned on My Uncle's Farm," which will be published in October by Sorin Books. He can be contacted at rwicks@loyola.edu