So here’s the thing about loneliness. It’s the absence, not of friends or companions or family, it’s the absence of drive. And how does drive appear or disappear? It is not gifted or inherited. It’s learned. And the learning is connected to worthiness. Without feeling worthy, there’s no drive. When there’s no drive, there’s loneliness. The overwhelming, overarching ache. Sometimes hard to define.
How can it be possible when, in this privileged place my friend sits, she seems to have no cause. She doesn’t feel worthy. She hears the spaces between the compliments. She wears a darkened lense that distorts.
You can be alone but not lonely. I think she might be both.
We talk and laugh about things and then we go our separate ways. After that she stays still. Not surrounded by calm or contentment, but loneliness. She feels she’s not worthy. As her friend, I try to penetrate the layers and I welcome her peeling of them too. Although we’ve known each other for a long time, she’s protective of her core. As is her prerogative.
So how does she find her drive? Her worthiness?
In the moments. In the tiny moments. The acknowledgement of nature. Just there. The beauty of calm. The decision, right in the present, to smile. The conscious breath, deep intake of nourishing air. The physical movement from one position to another and the very action of pro-action. Today I will. I will, because I’m worthy. I will, because I choose.
Loneliness doesn’t pack away easily. Her bag is already full of experiences both positive and negative. There’s always a place to cram it in – underneath the other stuff. I’m not really spatially-aware, but I can help with the zip.
And maybe sit on the bag to squash it closed.
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