Thoughts on Loneliness

I recently traveled back home to visit my parents and some friends I grew up with. A funny thing happened when I arrived back at the house. I walked in the door and immediately headed down to my old, reasonably untouched bedroom. I dropped off my luggage and by this time one of my parents’ cats had discovered my return. She cautiously greeted me in the doorway, intentionally adding some unfamiliarity to her curious approach. This moment struck me, because in every other way I felt as if nothing had changed since I last stood in that room. But this little interaction with Brandy, the cat, served to remind me of how long it had been.

I made it a point to dig up some of my old notebooks during this visit, as I’ve been thinking of publishing some past poems of mine. Flipping back through things I’ve written is almost always a pleasant trip down memory lane. Among some of the highlights: 1) a pros and cons list for breaking up with my then college girlfriend, 2) a dream I wrote down about fighting the Terminator with my friend Shane, 3) a poem about appreciating life that I wrote while sitting on the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland, back in 2009.

I have a vivid memory that I often revisit. I was 12 years old, in a car with my parents on the way to New Hampshire for a long weekend with their friends. Knowing that I was in for a boring few days as the tag-along, I decided that I needed something to entertain myself. There were no Nintendo systems where we were going. Being the thoughtful parents that they are, they acknowledged my need and stopped off at some convenient store/gift shop hybrid. I walked out of there with a three-dollar notebook and a pen. Looking at the first entry in that notebook, it seems that I had it in mind to write a song for a girl I liked at the time. 18 years and many notebooks later, I chuckle to myself about this memory whenever it comes to me. At the time, I had no idea of the importance of that purchase decision. What if I had bought a slinky? What if I had bought a deck of cards?

In some ways, writing has worked against me over the years. Learning to communicate with myself on such an intimate and comfortable level leaves me at somewhat of a disadvantage, socially speaking. Relationships, including those with family, have always been cumbersome to maintain, almost like a chore.

For a long time, I had concluded that I was impossible to understand. I was wrong, of course. Being understood is a two-player game, and it requires practice. Until recently, I just never bothered to try. Was it the isolation that caused the writing? Was it the writing that caused the isolation?

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve actually found a nice balance between social activity and isolation. Perhaps isolation is a strong word. I’ll call it “alone time.” Just as I look forward to being out with old friends and meeting new ones, I much appreciate those days to myself when I can set the phone face-down and recharge.

Though I immensely enjoy this time to myself, which is often unwisely spent in front of the TV, I can’t help but sense a subtle presence of loneliness. I wouldn’t say that I’m bothered by it, as it never fully consumes me. It’s just kind of there. It brings me to ponder the potential joys of companionship, and the potential dangers of shutting people out. Ironically, it’s become a topic of conversation in my latest notebook. Perhaps I should make a pros and cons list. What if I had bought a slinky?