strategic withdrawal

I am on retreat.
I've settled into my room; toiletries in the bathroom, books stacked on the windowsill, I've turned the ugly (but comfy) la-z-boy chair toward the window and watched the sky darken- it's 4:45 and everything's in place.
I ate big before getting here, and have given myself the gift of skipping dinner and prayer with the other retreatants who are here, although I feel a tiny twinge of guilt about that. The retreat center has been renovated and there are private bathrooms in each room, so I barely need to see anyone at all this weekend, if I don't want to (and I don't!). I'm plotting going out to fill my water bottle in the social room while prayer is going on. I called Dad this afternoon to tell him I was going away for the weekend, and he said "so, three days and you're not allowed to talk?" I told him "it's more like, three days and I'm allowed not to talk." I told him how much I love to go to meals and not be expected to make small talk. I told him I bring a book to my meals and love that I don't have to have any "so where are you from" conversation. I said "you get it." He did.
As is my practice (this is my third Epiphany weekend retreat), I've spent the last several weeks buying books, knowing little information about them-  recommendations from friends and references from... I don't know, twitter? I just started one (Invitation to Retreat) and realized that I'd brought two books by the same author, without knowing. Fortunately, I like her, so far. 
In fact, so far, she's already got me thinking. She describes retreat as a military strategy, that of "strategic withdrawal," where an army can get a larger view, have their wounds tended, get some rest and strategize for the next steps in the war. She asks us to ask ourselves "where am I in danger these days?" and "am I engaged in the right battle(s)?" 
This weekend falls on the anniversary of my starting at my current job, coincidentally. It's been such a roller coaster ride that each year, I feel like I'm finishing up my first year in a new job, even though Monday will be my 6th anniversary.  I've been here in very dark times, and in transitional times, and for the first time so far, this year I don't feel so much that I am in battle. It's lovely to not be in spiritual crisis for the moment, and I'm interested to see where these hours of silence lead me. 
As much as I look forward to this time every year, I am always surprised to find that as it approaches, I start to feel a little nervous. I go from thinking "it's not even three full days! I need a week!" to realizing that these are not regular hours, filled with chores/podcasts/emails/work/whatever. They're BLANK hours. OPEN hours. WIDE OPEN hours. I start to remember that there will be nothing to distract me, no buffer between me and my thoughts, me and God. 
But I'm so glad to be here, marooned by choice, starting early, on a full stomach. Here I go. 

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