ONLY THE LONELY

It’s remarkable how, even when you think your days are mundane, they define you.  Such hours, minutes create the backdrop for living and the impetus for being. But what happens when, suddenly, you have to start anew? Literally all over again. A new home in a new city, a new job search, new friends. And you find that you miss, no yearn for, the comfort of what was known.

This is what envelopes. As you stand amidst the frayed fragments of the present, the loneliness becomes unbearably palpable.

Certainly, one goes about daily rituals. It has been studied that, if you get out of bed, shower, clean house, and feed yourself, you are doing fine because the desire for survival compels and sustains.  In a world that is simplified by the overt, cliched analysis of the human facade, perhaps we do not recognize the subtle, pained definition of loneliness. For sometimes it is in the daily robotic chores of living that we guise our innermost fears and sorrows.  Perhaps by awakening or dusting the cobwebs or sweeping the crumbs or cooking that meal in a setting for one, you are anxiously hoping for a glimmer of meaning amidst the nothingness.

When you are lonely, you find yourself thinking a lot. You realize that your past life allowed for distraction in the immersion of doing. There was very little time for overthinking. But it is different now. The self-conversations are endless. They pursue as you as try to escape from its clutches. And, after the house and you are cleaned, you are simply sitting by yourself with the thundering of words in your head There is no way out of your mind. Thoughts loom and threaten like an abusive parent.

You wrestle with your memories. You hold your Mother’s old vase in your hands and miss her presence. You glance at a photo of your daughters when they were little babies and revel at how they looked at you as if their joy stopped at your smile. You inspect an old souvenir from a past travel and recall the richness of your wanderlust days, lost in the allure of far-away streets. Against your better judgement, you also recall the challenges of the past. The times of betrayal and incredible loss. It is a dark crawl into sadness.

You miss your friends and your family living in other cities but accept that they are busy immersing themselves in their life routines. When they find time to speak and laugh and listen, you accept such inclusion with gratitude.You hang on to such sharings and try not to abuse their generosity. And you feel worried that perhaps you spoke too long or too candidly, or, even worse, expected too much. It is somewhat of an art, you know, managing conversations so they compel future encounters and do not fall prey to bother. For the thought of losing such people would surely be a pained void in your already solo life. So, you cautiously tread on the fragile eggshells of connection.

In a life that was once infused with “what if’s” and “next steps”, suddenly there is really no tangible future to plan. But there are no regrets in what was; decisions were made with the best you could muster at that moment in time. You learned, you erred, you tried. As the saying goes, you did the best you could. You pray that the mis-steps will not be your ultimate legacy. So that, in memoriam, your children are not disappointed, a friend does not lessen your impact, a lover does not forget the color of your eyes, and an accomplishment is not overshadowed by the failures that followed.

Age and experience seems to work against you. A younger self would be undaunted, would dream of the impossible, would realize there is more to come. The older you become, destiny turns into a dreaded foe. You are now relegated to worry about the challenges of a "fixed" bank account, to tire at the endless rounds of futile interviews that find you too “mature”, to look in the mirror and realize that the trials of the past have stolen the softness and glow that once defined you. And ultimately you wonder about dying. The increase of years inevitably dictates that your “time” is coming sooner than later. And, with surprising acquiescence. you wonder if death would be a welcome passage and closure.

And then…your old dog approaches. Such a steadfast friend. No matter how many times you dragged him along for the good and the bad, he never judged. He was there with an unquestioned, constant love that simply embraced the essence. And now, even in his last days, in his struggling health, he remains by your side.  Of course, you help him walk in his blindness with a symbiotic code of guidance, you tolerate his nightly interruptions, you hold him tighter. It is clear that he is winding down. You wonder when that inevitable day will come when he will be gone. You prepare your heart.

And you realize that there actually does exist a routine of survival. Suddenly, everything takes its place. It is a strange state of newness that you could never have imagined in your once vibrant and full past existence. Life is quiet. Life remains in the glimpses of love and, yes, in the sweetness of memories. And, as your old friend sits loyally by your side, you accept the remnants of these lonely days.