Letter from the editor

SOLITUDE

[English] noun the state of being alone, solitary, by oneself

What comes to mind when you think of the word solitude?

One of the many definitions describes it as a state of being alone and by oneself. In my experience, the state of solitude is designated alone time to be present and find peace within my mind, body, and spirit. In bell hooks’, All About Love: New Visions, she reflects on the significance of what solitude can bring to one’s life. She wrote, “Knowing how to be solitary is central to the art of loving. When we can be alone, we can be with others without using them as a means of escape.” When our editorial team met to discuss the theme of this issue of our Journal, we were all emerging from the quiet and sombering first year of the pandemic in 2020. As we all remember, our worlds were halted and many of us were forced to slow down and distance ourselves from others.

Khayla

Quite a few of us were forced to learn how to be alone. And during that specific time, we all turned inwards.

This Journal issue is a collection of reflections on solitude from Black women artists. As our co-editor Alexandria Miller stated in one of our editorial meetings, “For some, there is a difference between being alone and being lonely. Black women and girls’ solitude and privacy is sacred and, unfortunately, sometimes invaded. Solitude can be a moment for rest, recharging, and relaxation. On the other hand, still in the midst of a pandemic, the meaning and purpose of solitude has slightly evolved.” Alexandria expounds off her personal experience of solitude in her essay, “Home,” an exploration of what it means to create a home for herself.

During our brainstorming sessions, our photography editor, Damola Akintunde, asked herself the question “Who am I outside of the background noise?” As a photographer, she uses self portraiture as a tool to explore that question in her conversation with fellow photographer Kaci Kennedy on self documentation as a grounding practice.

This issu is also full of beautiful reflections and commentary illustrating how people define and practice solitude. Our cover image features writer Gerty Mitchell sitting in her favorite writing nook to spend time with herself and her words. Her poem, “Solitude” captures the sentiment of her portrait beautifully, which was photographed by Damola. Aeran Baskin also shares a poem in three acts describing her relationship with solitude. We also have a personal reflection on motherhood by Kara Simpson that takes us on a journey of self discovery as she became a first time mother. There are a couple of powerful prose on what a silent retreat and a sweet cup of tea would do for one’s soul individually gifted by Alexus Rhone and Shaunna Barbee-Tyus. To round up this issue, we have a great list of resources of practice to support one’s solitary journey. It is our hope that the reflections and images in our fifth issue of The Beautiful Project Journal will be a gift to you all.

Enjoy,

Khayla Deans Co-Editor

My solitude

GERTY MITCHELL

My solitude needs not to be an alarm

Needs not to be a concern, nor frightens you

Because it is the medium that I use to find a peaceful Umbrella under the ever increasing fast-paced world

With constant traffic jams

So ever loudly with unwanted noises

Unsolicited informations, opinions, expectations, and misconception

My solitude is thorned between silence and screams

Dead silence

Then I scream

Then…

Nothing

My solitude is not confinement

Is not social rejection

Nor invisibility

My solitude is being present

Finding time for reflection and being aware of the World around me

Meditating to hear the voice of the one who calls himself I Am

Being strengthened by a higher power to becoming brave, courageous and resilient

When my strength becomes feeble

So that my tomorrow can bloom again with hope, love, laughter, and purpose…

My solitude grants me the freedom to become and reinvent myself my

“I see you in every part of this place. This is truly your home, a young Black lady’s home.” My usually wild, witty mother’s words have stuck with me since that fateful day in May. I always think of her laugh and soulful bounce as she talks, but this time her tone was both placid and proud. It was the first time she visited her first-born daughter’s first home. Truthfully, a bit over a year later, I know it was God that got me here but to be able to see the delight on my mom’s face made the entire process worthwhile.

I wake up to peace in my house every morning – heavy on the “my.” By peace, I mean I discovered the beauty of silence and it is something I now treasure daily. I wake up each morning to the distant sounds of birds chirping and the wind whistling, and just my thoughts. It’s a sort of quiet that I’ve never known, but that I desperately needed.

For most of my life I’ve had to share space. I divided the decoration of my bedroom with my sister. She had her side of the closet and I had mine. In college, fortunately I had a dorm room all to myself, but the cafeterias, and worse the lackluster, taupe bathrooms, were open spaces. I’d gone from my mother’s home to the dorm room, and then to living with roommates, none of them felt super ideal for the woman I was growing into.

Last year, amidst the awkward unknown of the pandemic, I got my own apartment, suitable for a single hot gyal such as myself. I looked tirelessly and had almost given up after feeling entirely out of place in a new city with nowhere to really rest. It’s just like God to have divine timing. I walked into this beautiful one bedroom with a walk-in closet to hold all my shoes. It had a quaint porch where I envisioned myself drinking my morning cup of tea. It was perfect for me, down to the apartment number, my favorite number, which I took as confirmation that this would be my home.

Building my home has made me find home in myself. For the first week, the quiet of the morning confused me, in a good way. There was no one in the kitchen making breakfast, no one turning on the TV too loudly, no one disturbing my zen. I found solace in the quiet and I cherished it. My days are on my own accord, with a little meditation, my gratitude journal, and some reggae music. I have a little yoga corner with a photo that reads “Live the Life You’ve Always Dreamed of” as reminders to care for myself daily, radically, and intentionally. My thoughts have no external intrusions, and I am free to lounge, rest, dance, and design as I please.

One of the many ironies I’ve realized since is the habits I’ve picked up from my childhood home. I used to deplore washing dishes every night as a child and now I can’t go to bed without doing them. I make my bed every morning now, not because I must but because I want to, because it is part of my care regimen.

My self-care language is solitude and I never truly understood that until living alone. As an introvert, I am quite clear that I need space for myself. Owning a home has, however, taken my understanding of self and space to a whole new level. It has allowed me to realize my likes and dislikes, like the giant halfnude portrait that hangs behind my couch which I love but may not be everyone’s cup of tea. I’ve created a schedule solely based on my movements, my feelings, and my agenda. I choose comfort and simplicity and I am very serious about symmetry; all things need to coordinate. I’ve figured out my own style, from the rug I selected with gold geometric patterns that both goes with my sectional and brings out the gold accents on my TV stand. I keep my air fryer on my countertop, much to my mother’s dismay, because that is the one appliance I know I will use every week. I am better for the ability to choose my existence. I’ve gotten to know myself better, to be softer with myself and I’ve learned to take care of myself when things get tough. Nothing cures a bad day for me like making some chili in my Instant Pot, baking a cake, and curling up under my weighted blanket. And yes, I have all the millennial adulting must-haves!

Home-buying and home-building alone, during the pandemic, and as a Black woman surely didn’t look like it does on HGTV. One day I may write about structural equalities and the challenges I faced buying my home, but today I choose gratitude. I am better for the lessons and experiences. I am grateful to be able to feel what true independence is like, to begin this journey to emotional and financial freedom because Jah knows I went from thinking househunting was so cute and dandy to a serious life lesson on how the process really works or that I would be super lonely living alone when in reality, I feel safer and more secure than ever. I’ve realized I had to get alone to get free – to learn new things, like how to unclog my disposal or that my basement needed a dehumidifier.

My home is my vacation, with bursts of yellow, a little sparkle, essential oils, and my favorite books. It is the first place I’ve ever dared to be so bold, so fearless, and if I don’t like something I am free to change it.

Buying my first house in a new city and making it a home, all by myself, has taught me that through solitude comes softness. This solitude, this peace of mind is the greatest gift of selfexploration I’ve ever experienced.