Loneliness

For the meaning of life differs from man to man, from day to day and from hour to hour. What matters, therefore, is not the meaning of life in general but rather the specific meaning of a person’s life at a given moment. — Viktor Frankl

In sitting with this quote, I find that it’s easy to skim. Easy to view sideways as something profound that I can nod my head to and move past on my way to some distraction. And in doing that, I create the meaning of this moment as one of escape. One of craving distraction from the monotonous details of today’s responsibilities.

I’m not present for the basic reality of this moment, which makes me less likely to be present for this hour or the next one. And soon, the day is one spent in moments bent over a tiny screen, again and again.

Writing forces presence. Which is why I avoid it. It forces me to ask the question: What is the meaning of this moment?

To be present is to accept everything that’s happening. Even the loud sound of typing as I sit alone in a hotel room. This is not my place, I tell myself. I want my place, my person, my familiar space. And so I resist the truth of this moment: it’s lonely.

If I am present for this, if I accept the truth of it, I find that the feeling of loneliness passes through me. Because the loneliness is the experience. It’s not special to me. And when I realize that this is an experience others have and are experiencing too, it creates a sense of peace and an odd sense of belonging.