Joining in with Five Minute Friday: this week’s word Alone.
[Andrew, I’m thinking of you and sending you all my most positive energy, hoping this is just a bump in the road for you]
I’ve always felt alone even in a crowd; I have that kind of personality. I enjoy my own company, am happy in my head, happy to sit, alone, and read. Most of my pleasures are solitary: reading, scrapbooking, painting, running, meditation. I’m not the life and soul of the party although I can be very entertaining if you get me talking about something I’m interested in. I like alone. Like the feeling of it. The wholesome, life-giving, solitariness of it.
It’s when alone turned in to lonely that I started having trouble.
I don’t like lonely. Lonely is a whole different ball game and we don’t get along.
Lonely is nasty, she’ll trick you, turn you against yourself, have you thinking dark dark thoughts, have you questioning your sanity. She’ll make you nostalgic, make you long for company, drag you to the depths of desperation, often throwing you over in to despair. She’ll maroon you there for a while, until you manage to claw your way back out.
I like alone yet when you’re lonely it’s hard, even, to be alone. She robs you of even those simple pleasures, so crafty and insidious she is.
When you’re lonely you’ll begin to hate being alone. You’ll question every decision you ever made, every facet of your personality. You’ll make resolutions: to invite people over more, to be more sociable, to get out more (knowing you’ll never keep these resolutions only gives loneliness yet more power).
Slowly but surely, however, loneliness will propel you to make changes, to be more proactive, to seek company, to emerge from the despair, to live again, in however small a way feels manageable. You’ll feel like the little child on her first day at school, unsure, timid, wondering whether anyone will play with her, exploring something new, something intimidating.
It’s brave to face the days that brim over with loneliness. Scaling the previously unclimbed face, you’ll be unsure of your footing, unsure where the path will take you. But you’ll go anyway (knowing the alternative is too grim to consider). You’ll go, one small step at a time, one foot in front of the other, slowly emerging out of the shadows, the sun hurting your eyes as you blink to reveal new.
New places. New friendships. New you.
Thanks to the loneliness.