That it is lonely here/but not alone/and on the telephone/you offer reassurance.
Those lyrics are from the song “I Will Not Take These Things For Granted” by Toad the Wet Sprocket (who came up with that name?). I know I’m not alone in this world. I have people who love me, and I share my kindness and compassion every day as a form of love. But I would be lying if I said that I didn’t miss having a companion. It’s been twenty-two years since I was divorced, and I’ve only had one date since. That singular event was a disaster: the man couldn’t have made it clearer that he didn’t want a relationship and was an emotional infant.
I find myself moving on in years, and I wonder if I will ever have a chance at coupledom again. I’m not interested in the dating sites; I tried them early on and didn’t have any luck. Besides, I like meeting people face-to-face, not online. The whole experience feels impersonal, and most men I’ve encountered don’t believe in leaving something to the imagination. I don’t ever want to see another dick pic. I don’t want people to lie to me so they can get me into bed.
Experts tell us that loneliness is a part of the human condition, an event to expect regularly like the changing of the seasons. Loneliness has shown up in various forms in my life: being at a party but feeling separate from everyone, unable to find one soul to share stories with. Working as a nurse and pouring out all I have to help others, while realizing no one is caring for me. Being in a marriage and becoming aware that your partner has you low down on his list of priorities.
I have never felt so alone as when I was with someone.
When I was younger, loneliness felt like a failure, as if I wasn’t doing enough to make connections with people. I believed that I shouldn’t experience loneliness; that was a feeling reserved for older people and those who lived out in the middle of nowhere. I had a larger circle of friends then, so I didn’t work hard to find new ones because I didn’t need to. The loneliness would fade as soon as I met up with a buddy. If I spent a prolonged period of time alone, I knew it was temporary. I would be out again with my cycling group, rehearsing with my band, or meeting for lunch within days.
Now I know how foolish I was. I can’t escape loneliness, but I fear it less now. Having a block of time to myself feels like a gift. I can fill my emotional well and find peace on a quiet afternoon in the park, lying in the grass and reading a book under the shade of a giant oak. I can listen to music while I make soup from scratch. I can leave my cell phone behind while I take a walk with my dog, Harper.
So it can be lonely here, but I am not alone. I have myself.