All I want for Christmas is solitude.

[Bruce Atchison]

One writer on the Inscribe list recently posed a question that generated a flurry of replies. She asked us what would be a good Christmas gift to give a writer. Some members suggested note pads and pencils while others suggested e-book readers or voice-recognition software. I chimed in by saying that all I wanted for Christmas was to be left alone. That generated even more responses. Why would I, or anybody, want to be without the company of family and friends on such a festive occasion?

To start with, I acquired a taste for solitude during childhood. Whenever I tried to play with the neighbourhood kids, they teased me and threw stones. I discovered that being alone, whether wandering by the creek or exploring new building construction sites once the carpenters left for the day, proved much more stimulating. This was a safer way to play in more ways than one. I dreamt up my own adventures during my private wanderings, all without the fear of some playmate saying, "Is that ever stupid."

I pursue many solitary hobbies at home. Radio, particularly shortwave and amateur communications, has fascinated me for decades. Not only do I enjoy writing but the internet has a labyrinth of interesting trails to explore. additionally, I have a broadband connection so I can watch YouTube videos, tune in internet radio stations, and explore topics found by Google in the seclusion of my own home. I even satisfy my spiritual needs by attending Prestoncrest Church of Christ via streaming video each Sunday morning.

I have always hated noisy throngs or dark places such as bars and restaurants. Sighted people frequently cut in front of me and I don't see them until it's almost too late. When I'm in a crowd, I need to keep alert as people don't watch where they're going. The stress of constant vigilance robs all the pleasure out of any event I attend. I especially despise crowded dinner gatherings where too many people are seated around too small a table. When I'm alone on a deserted road or on a lonely forest path, I can relax and walk at my own pase.

Then there's the soul-crushing obligations of the holiday season. People assume that everybody loves giving gifts, sending cards, decorating, and visiting family members. I derive much more enjoyment from donating to worthy charities and laying on the floor while petting my rabbits than I do at a crowded party or noisy dinner. Christmas-loving folks presume that everybody grew up in harmonious two-parent family situations. They can't comprehend why I wouldn't want to be among people with whom I share a history of hostility.

Apart from the chronic difficulty of accessing public transportation, I'm perfectly happy here. This home is a writer's dream come true. I have no close neighbours, the hamlet is across the tracks, and a hay field is behind my back yard. I can concentrate fully on my work and relax afterward without the thoughtless distractions of noisy children, barking dogs, and blasting stereos. Why would I want to leave all this comfortable tranquility to attend noisy family get-togethers where I'd likely end up in an argument?

In my Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, I've detailed many of my happiest moments while alone as well as how my fun was often spoiled by grown-ups and peers. Please check out this book, and my debut memoir called When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) at my Inscribe writers group page. I have also posted excerpts of my books on my blog.