Loneliness is a real emotion for me. I feel it in the pages of my journal. At the dinner table with family. In the texts I leave unanswered.
It’s not that I don’t have people I could talk to. It’s more so that the things that sometimes build in my chest, that push against the membranes and calcium structures that keep me together, threatening to dismantle them… those things seem a bit heavy for most folks, so I rarely talk to people about them.
I’m not good at small talk. I hate it. I’m also not curious enough about others unless there’s something to be curious about. My friends know they can message me whenever. I’ll be there in an instant if they need me. But a regular Happy New Year or have you seen the latest can go weeks if not months unanswered. For all I know, it could be this lack of superficial tact that propagates my loneliness.
I wasn’t always like this.
I have definitely become more introverted over the last year. I understand why it happened. It was a circumstantial development. Sometimes, you force life’s hand, other times it forces yours.
Could my loneliness be cured by one person? Maybe. But the more I think about it, the more I start to doubt. It would definitely cure some of the sadness, but I think my days of writing to myself and identifying what is truly important have unrooted something deeper.
In my lonely year, I’ve found solace in editing, writing, reading and learning. They are the few places I feel I can show up in and be my full authentic self. No judgement, no justifying, no pretending to be stronger or braver than I am. This is me. Every fear and vulnerability in the one place it can’t be taken advantage of.
In what has probably been lifesaving, I’ve also found safety in people that choose to stay, regardless of what happens. When I take a step back, these people are my mum and my dad. These are the homes I can show up at no matter what time of the day, and it’s my own too. I don’t think I’ve quite understood how this has shaped me as a human yet, but I will. I think it might turn me into that person with guest rooms for days, where anyone can crash and when they wake up, they can join me downstairs for a breakfast spread. I’d like that.
I’ve given up on asking people to walk with me. See, I really struggle with feeling let down and disappointed. Nothing hurts me more than having my character glossed over to satisfy someone else’s narrative.
Now that’s not to say I’m perfect. I’m not. But I do think pretty damn perfectly. I take criticism, I consider perspectives, reflect on what I say and do every damn day of my life, and more often than not, conclude that I could have done better. I could have been nicer to my dad. I forgot to bin my coffee capsule. I need to replace the soya yoghurts before they finish. It always comes down to the things I can do to make life more pleasant for everyone involved.
I’ve noticed that in a world that is perpetually insecure of itself, it’s really hard to be secure in yourself. Validation is only internal once externally approved. Unlearning this has consequences. It’s a gamble when it shouldn’t be. But our world isn’t ready for that conversation. Call me romantic, it’s exactly what I am. I don’t want to be anything else.
take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die, I don’t belong // and my beloved neither do you
I woke up feeling lonely today. I woke up with new texts on my phone. Two of my closest friends, but I haven’t responded yet. I watched chess strategy on YouTube. (Fun fact: I’ve won the two games I’ve played since).
It’s not that my loneliness was cured with a few chess tutorials. That’s not how this works. But it lights something up inside. An excitement, something of significance. In true me fashion, it resonated way beyond winning a game of chess.
I’m reading another book. Viagens na minha Terra, (Travels in my Homeland). It’s Portuguese. Can you tell I’m reconnecting with my mother tongue and Lusophone beginnings? My ancestors were explorers, navigators, authors, doctors and scientists.
Almeida Garrett, the author of this 19th century work, marked the start of the romantic movement in Portugal. His structure and language are innovative, tentative, very much like my own style. He regularly references other writers and philosophers. The more I read, the more I know my guy wrote this book for him. He calls it his obra–prima. Literal translation: prime work. In other words, his masterpiece.
Masterpiece it was. To this day, it is required reading in schools up and down the country.
I’ve done some top line research on Almeida. He spent some time exiled in England, where he rubbed shoulders with the Romantic movement there. He later moved to France. Anyone who knows me, knows I think Paris is one of the most beautiful cities in the world (it’s not overrated at all in my opinion). Futhermore, Almeida studied Law at the University of Coimbra.
Coimbra, a historic city and former capital of the country. My mum grew up here. I visit every summer. I’ve walked the university grounds and small-town roads since I could wander on my own two feet. I know the riverfront like the back of my hand, all the vantage points and hidden passages. I’ve even almost drowned in that godforsaken river. Would have drowned had it not been for two Englishmen.
And yet well after Almeida’s passing in 1854, our paths cross. I’m only seven chapters in, but he has said something that has stuck. We all need to believe in something.
What that something is, is entirely up to you. For some it’s medicine, others religion. For me, it’s this.
It’s the era of romanticism. “For the world to be regenerated, it is necessary to start all over again with a childlike perspective.”
It’s the idea that we are one with nature. That everything is part of one thing greater than us all. It’s what The Alchemist teaches. There’s a world out there with signs and a language beyond words and dialects. It is in the novelists, poets and wordsmiths of my generation and previous ones, that I find my companions.
My favourite thing about writing is how much I learn. I am forever googling to understand what influenced my influences. I look up synonyms and definitions to find words that feel like perfect harmony. Sometimes, I make up words, like infinence in my previous post. After all, all words had to be made up at some point. No one said we couldn’t do it anymore.
William Shakespeare is regarded as a master neologist. He was the first to coin terms such as radiant, generous, ‘zany’ and befitting to this piece, lonely.
Am I Shakespeare? No, but I could be. Are you lonely? No, but you could be.
That’s how I think each of us need to think in this world. You may not be poor, or lonely, or in ill health right now, but… you could be. And in those moments, what would be meaningful support to you? I’ll admit, had it not been for loneliness and a few other struggles in the last two years, I probably would have never thought this way. In the reverse, when you aren’t in those positions, how can you provide value? How do you help people get out of those positions? Because they are not fun positions to be in.
One of the greatest gifts to be gifted to me, was packaged by loneliness. It’s the ability to see loneliness in others, to understand just how multifaceted this phenomenon is. The ability to show up in a meaningful manner for the people in my life, and those outside of it too. To show up for fellow humans, because loneliness is an epidemic in itself.
There are many ways to combat loneliness in an age where separation is more encouraged than togetherness. It’s in the open and clear invitation to join me on my travels, or be part of my work. It’s managing my time effectively so I’m never too busy, or can’t afford the ‘luxury’ of disconnecting for 30 minutes. It’s sharing ideas and opportunities for growth with those around me. It’s listening, really listening, and allowing space for people to be true to themselves. Sometimes, it’s just physically being in the same room as someone, although depending on the person, this can very easily be just as isolating. Too often, I find that people are lonely because sadness too, needs company. It’s not uncomfortable to talk about grief or pain, in fact, it’s very much necessary. Sharing pain is a cry for help. It’s a silent plead for support. It’s acknowledgement that the weight is overbearing. Please, for the love of God, listen.
In a way, the antidote to loneliness is love. I wrote about love in a previous post. I think the problem as a nation and peoples, is that we don’t know how to show it. Or we’re scared. Or conditioned to think we shouldn’t. I reject all of that. After all, I’m a romantic.
With all of this, in leading by example and not worrying about what anyone else isn’t doing, and not operating in the societally ingrained tit for tat manner, I’ve found two things.
One, I rarely ever feel let down by individuals anymore. You can hold someone accountable for their actions, you can even hold them accountable for the hurt you feel, but to hold them accountable for your subsequent inaction, is to breed victim mentality.
Two, everything I do naturally became more meaningful and of purpose. I embraced challenges and stopped counting myself out, no matter how much Resistance* was telling me I can’t. I’ll admit, my view of myself is borderline majestic. In my world, I’m a magician. Except it’s not easy to be a magician.
Lonely isn’t a noun, it’s an adjective. The only other option available is to be a lonely complainer. Do you see what I’m saying? Loneliness does not impact the things you can or can’t do. You need to bottle it up and use it to infuse your understanding and empathy, to power up.
My loneliness in specific, stems from two places. I really miss someone. But that aside, I just don’t feel like I belong. And that’s okay, I’ll just edit and write. And I’ll drive cars, and make yoghurt fruit bowls. And never make anyone else feel lonely.
If it lasts forever (although I really hope not), then I can’t do anything about it. I’ll be writing about loneliness for decades the same way songwriters have been writing about heartbreak for years.
But I am scared. I’m scared of the pain becoming too great one day, and finishing me early. When I say it’s okay, I mean okay for now.
My only message to you is, keep fighting team, and be kind to eachother. A esperança é a ultima a morrer.(Hope is the last to die.)
I hope you’re all having a lovely lockdown and I can’t wait to be home and join you. Sounds crazy but it’s true. There’s a time and place for everything, and I feel a need to be home.
All the love, always.
S.
Commenti