being alone

These days, I have been spending a good deal of my time alone.  If not alone completely, I am often alone in crowds or in rooms.  And a large part of me knows how sad that sounds.  But it isn't sad until being alone turns into a creeping loneliness that begins to hollow the heart and dim the eyes. And that? That is sad. I mean, did you know that loneliness contributes to disease and sickness?



Because I am finding myself alone, I have the time to think about how I am living this life. I think about how I want to spend my time, and how did people centuries ago spend their's.  And then my thinking makes turns, and I think about how I used to perceive life as my own frontier upon which I had the sole responsibility of marking it out on my own, for me and only me. 

So when I am alone, I am often confronted with my loneliness, which gives voice to all my longings. It can be easy to bring my hands to my ears. Lain Thomas, a modern poet, wrote, '"And every day, the world will drag you by the hand, yelling, "This is important! And this is important! And this is important! You need to worry about this! And this! And this!" And each day, it's up to you to yank your hand back, put it on your heart and say, "No. This is what's important."' There's a lot of noise in the daily grind, but Loneliness is a room that leads you to your most honest desires and disappointments.  And this is a room that shouldn't be ignored. So I do cry. And there is something about being your own honest friend, because honesty frees the soul to actually see, and feel, and gives way to actual listening.  I let myself feel my weakness, and let myself feel what it feels. Today, on my home from work, I thought back to earlier in the day when a coworker nonchalantly said, "I can't wait for you to have children." And it was a pang to my yearning heart. Yes. I want a home, and a family, so their voices fill each room. But I do not have that, and no prospect of it either. So I tear at the disappointment.

But then in that room called Loneliness, the sadness becomes a revelation.  I may be weak, only then to be strong, and brave, and to tell myself that you can do this, by yourself, and its going to be okay, and it's only one day, and this season will not always be.  And then I begun to think about my beautiful 93-year-old grandma, who has seen years gone by, who has watched her children's children's children grow up, who has traveled across oceans and continents, who has done some serious living, and I remember the look in her eyes, and I recall the certainty in her voice, and I can't help but but fall to my knees in deep gratitude over this woman. Its there that I begin to realize my life is not my own. It never should be.  I am reminded that life goes in any way, and I am thankful I am alive and hopeful.

It's funny how gratitude turns everything into enough.