Solitude

Solitude is a powerful thing. It is also a wonderful thing, if the solitude is voluntary. I imagine forced solitude is unnerving and bad, possibly destructive. It should be noted that solitude on a sunny Independence Day weekend at Lake Geneva is not the easiest thing to find. The lake was, without any exaggeration, thoroughly jam packed last weekend. The streets were cluttered with too many cars. The parks filled to overflowing with day tripping revelers. The houses with long driveways filled with weekend guests who demand bacon and fresh orange juice in the morning and clean sheets at night. The lake itself was like child’s bathtub at bath time, overflowing with toys of all sorts that made the otherwise large tub feel somewhat small, water splashing all over the margins and onto anyone who dared get close.

It would be easy, in the middle of such a exuberant weekend, to seek solitude. It would also be easy to find it in small snippets- on a shady lakeside hammock, or in a wooded screened porch, or out on a boat in the middle of the lake during an early morning or a late afternoon. These moments are available, but I would mislead you if I made it sound as though they were abundant, and I am nothing if not a true guide. And this searching for solitude drives some buyers away from this great big lake. These naysayers drive into town on a Saturday in summer, glance at the lake, and with resignation or solitudinal snobbery dismiss the lake as too busy, too crowded, too this or too that, but certainly too full.

But for every individual that would be contented sitting on a boat on a small lake that is all their own, there are the rest of us that would find that to be a boring bob. That isn’t to say that sitting on a boat all alone for a while isn’t entertainment enough, but that is to say that lonely lakes generally make for lonely vacationers. In the middle of a weekend like the one now past, we had activity. We had beaches filled with tanned bodies, with Frisbees in the air and volleyballs too. We had boats towing skiers and others towing tubes, and we had others still just cruising, slowly, methodically, without much purpose except to stay outside the buoys. And still there were sailboats with their billowy white sails stretched tight against the breeze. The skiers skied, the tubers tubed, the sailors sailed and the beach goers went. Even though the harmony was complex, with each playing their own part, the sound was undeniably sweet.

Picture a resort. A white sand, beach side resort. There are Hobie’s lined up on the beach. There are lawn chairs in a long line, with white towels folded over each. There is staff waiting to serve, instructors waiting to instruct, and lifeguards waiting to save. Now picture yourself in the scene, perhaps with a spouse or a child or a friend. The scene is beautiful, the resort at the ready, and you are its only guest. For a while, this would be fun. You could run down the beach and no one would step in your way. You could rent each Hobie for an hour and never wait in line. You could go on a waverunner tour, the sort where you follow the leader in some sort of remedial display of boating order. You could do all these things and more, but you’d be doing them by yourself. For a spell, that would be fun.

After time, that freedom from people would grow stale. Resorts are meant for fun, for activity, for splashing and playing and mingling. Time spent alone is freeing at first until it becomes boring. We are all as Kevin McCallister, wishing for solitude but then wishing it would go away. Sitting on an empty lake is fine, but isn’t sitting on an active lake where like minded individuals do the same a bit more fun? Isn’t extended solitude just a shorter version of exile? As much as I love being alone, I love being part of a larger scene, the Lake Geneva scene, where we’re all so busy enjoying a 5200 acre resort.

Above, my new listing in the Lake Geneva Club. $579k, with slip and a generous helping of charm.