the gift of lonely
- By Kelly Diels
- 29 September, 2010
- 21 Comments
“Lonely? Lonely is my most faithful companion,” I chirped, my words entirely at odds with my tone. That seemingly-tossed off sentence had been simmering for months. I give good quote.
And so I spoke shiny, glossy, bloody truth.
Lonely is my most enduring relationship. We met when I was born, torn from warm water into cold air. When I kept a flesh secret for the family spider, when my best friend made out with her boyfriend at lunch and left me to eat alone, when I scanned the call display while my man was in the shower, when I was barely, begrudgingly, miserably pregnant but lost the baby without anyone to hold me, then Lonely was my only lover.
I cheat on him with turnstile dating, frantic sex, bids for attention, comfort food, gossip, good friends, gorgeous children and copious amounts of writing, but he is my soul’s 4am. We meet every night.
It isn’t just me. I’m convinced it is the human condition. We’re skinned entities, almost always distinct from each other. Separate. And yet we cannot exist with each other. We are meant to be together. We are one. And one, we all know, is the loneliest number.
So when my friend told me he “conquered loneliness in 2004″, I was astonished, then envious.
He suggested I do the same.
Later, he told me “conquered” wasn’t really the right word. It was more about coming to terms with lonely as an emotion, and emotions are transient and temporary feelings rather than a permanent state of being.
But for me, lonely is neither an emotion nor a state of being. Lonely is a shadow. He goes where I go.
So, what if, instead of conquering him – that sounds like such a protracted mess – I confront him? Maybe even make peace?
What if I say,
Yes, we are going to be together forever. It’s you ‘n me, Lonely.
Maybe I won’t ever marry again.
Maybe I will be on my own for the rest of my life.
What then?
Then I would have to
- double my income instead of hoping a hypothetical man will bring in half what I want
- save for retirement (do people do that anymore? Retire?)
- find ways to work or volunteer with babies
- consider adopting or fostering a child
- take myself off the unfulfilling-relationship hamster-wheel
- finally take up salsa
- travel more
- buy a house or a condo or just something, dammit
- be a better friend, sister, mother and daughter
- forgive the ones who harmed me
- forgive myself – because it will be a long walk and I’d like to enjoy my own company
- get a dog
- find God
Maybe lonely could be my best friend, if only I’d let him.
About the author
- More at
Kelly all great poets/artists/writers are lonely. You are all of these. QED.
[Reply]
It’s insane, really, how every single time I read your work…let me repeat…EVERY SINGLE TIME I READ YOUR WORK, I am stunned by your talent. STUNNED. Like I’m surprised? No, and yet, there it is, again. Words tugging, images searing and nuances tickled. Jaw dropped.
“I cheat on him with turnstile dating, frantic sex, bids for attention, comfort food, gossip, good friends, gorgeous children and copious amounts of writing, but he is my soul’s 4am. We meet every night.”
Damn woman. You are goooooooood.
XO
TG
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Hey, my first time here. Found my way through a tweet by Colin Wright and I’ll be sure to re-tweet it. Loved the post!! I’ll be sure to come back
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Beyond brilliant. You, like no other cause me to pause, to fill my very being with your words of truth that resonate so deeply with my soul…thank you
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I loved it. I’ve been thinking about that for some time now, how we are expected to be in relationship all times (otherwise there might be something wrong with us) and we tend to forget that we have to be in a healthy relationship with us first (ok, sounds cheesy, but I don’t know how to express it, you did it better).
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I’ve been thinking about this a lot too. I read a book review for ‘Hindsight’ and apparently the author talks a lot about Happily Ever After being inside, because you’re the only one who can really make that happen. Then I noticed that when I find an author or blogger I adore, whose sexy writing captivates me, I want to know how juicy her love life is. And I’m disappointed if no man is mentioned. Like yeah, you’re a writing rock star, but who’s gettin’ all her lovin’?
I agree though, if Lonely’s gonna be around, might as well make friends.
oxoxo
Jessica
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You are. You are such a beautiful writer. And every time I come here I think…how does she know me so well? I hope some day to meet you in person, or, do you feel me from here? Thanks for continuing to say it for me.
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How is it that everything you write feels like it was written especially for me? You have a gift my friend.
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Mmmmm, my friend. So much in here. A comment in this space will definitely not suffice. But for the time being, let me just say that my eye (and heart) were immediately drawn to your very last “have to:” find God. Sometimes that finding (or assumption of such) has created even more loneliness for me and yet, it feels like both resignation and homecoming simultaneously to let such be true…as with all that you’ve said about loneliness itself. What I wonder is if the two might be relatively synonymous. Making friends with loneliness and finding God. Just a thought. One I’ll ponder.
As always, deeply grateful for and moved by your brilliance, your writing, your heart.
[Reply]
Kelly,
I wouldn’t say that I’ve “found God”. I believe he’s always been there, that he isn’t waiting for me to find him, but waiting for me to work through some stuff and then we’ll get reacquainted. (I often wonder if I might be working through my stuff more quickly if God and I chatted regularly over good coffee. But, alas, that’s not where I am right now.)
I remember an achingly desperate morning – the kind of morning where my rational brain says, “Yes, Jess, lots love you”, but I’m not buying any of it. I went into my bathroom for a good cry, out of earshot of my kids.
I looked into my bloodshot eyes, tears streaming down my cheeks, and I heard myself say, “But I love you. That’s really all you need. You’ll never be lonely.”
I thought it was me saying it to myself.
I suspicion it may have been God.
[Reply]
Kelly
replied:
on September 29th, 2010 at 10:34 am
@Jesse, Beautifully put Jesse…
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Ahhhhh, loneliness. It’s been a wonder to me that here, in a real honest-to-pete marriage with a constant man and comfortable yet simmering hot love, and with a soul-family extending across continents held aloft with support and love and encouragement, loneliness still pops by to mock me. It’s part of this human condition, I guess.
Hugs and butterflies,
~T~
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So very good. So very true. Just what I need to hear (again) as I face these days (weeks? months? years?) of loneliness after losing my relationship.
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Confront, conquer, just labels for parsing out the emotion from the identity. Getting your label right helps with the parsing.
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“Forgive myself.” It’s always at the top of the list and always the one left unchecked. I feel stronger when I read your work, like I could staple your words to my forehead. Thank you.
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Yes. You already know that our experiences are running parallel to each other with a simple change in details/gender.
I am/was so lost about who I am alone, what that would really look like (I’ve been coupled, co-habitated) for 27 out of 30 of my adult years), that I started a sci-fi short story about waking up to life truly alone. Because this reply is getting lengthy, I’ll post about it. I wanted to “watch” what I’d do after the shock and depression wore off.
I’ll put it on the “other” blog (www.mizkcreations.blogspot.com).
All I can say is “warm hug” and neither of us is truly alone and are we lusting for something, as I’ve written, that is not-human? Just askin’.
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I’m not sure if lonely is your gift, but writing is. Still, there’s little solace in that when what you really want is a paramour/lover/friend/partner who knows he can’t heal your lonely–but he can block its shadow.
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If Lonely is my closest companion as well as yours, doesn’t that, by transitive properties, mean that you can be my companion? I sure as hell hope so. xox
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“Maybe lonely could be my best friend, if only I’d let him.”
This hit a nerve. If Lonely is our most enduring companion, maybe it’s time to welcome him/her to the party. To say, “hello, I know you’re here. I know you’ll always be here.” I wonder if by acknowledging lonely, we’d actually be taking away some of its power. Loads of new thoughts, untested and radical, are springing forth.
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