Oh, I do. You have noooooo idea.
But it goes more like this: lots of work, lots of projects, lots of family, lots of friends, lots of people make up my days...and the moments or hours or days of quiet are the hem that keeps me from unraveling.
Not the whole fabric of my life. Not even most of the fabric of my life.
The hem. The quiet moments are just the hem, but without the hem? It falls apart, thread by thread. The quiet moments are just the trim...the lace, the rick-rack, the beautiful gilded braid, but without it, the borders of my time here on earth would not be well defined, much less enchantingly lovely. This is the meaning of solitude. Much like the life of Jesus, quiet alone-ness is meant to comprise a small portion of a life that is mostly spent loving people, busily and actively and (often) painfully.
Without a peopled, busy life, all the quiet and long walks and the flock of Nubian goats and raindrops on roses and "dappled things and skies of couple-color as a brinded cow" (my favorite poet, Gerard Manley Hopkins) - well, its all just so much crap.
The only things we take into eternity are relationships.
Which reminds me of a very well written book on interior design entitled "A Perfectly Kept House is A Sign of a Misspent Life". Such a wonderful book on home design - one that lets the philosophy, that a home is the place where people love and are loved, rule everything...that philosophy should guide design, and take precedence above slavish displays of wealth, or even above showcasing a certain style, like Colonial or Victorian or Arts and Crafts or Mediterranean villa or French country (my fav) or Rustic or Whatever.
I could write a book: A Whole Lot of Days of Long walks and Quiet Are A Sign of a Misspent Life.
Busy. Is. Good.