Lean Into Loneliness
As I drove Avenida California in the moonlight, I thought about loneliness. Winding slowly along on my scooter, I wondered how many people in the world were struggling with loneliness at the very same moment as I was. That’s when I turned a corner and started coasting downhill. All of a sudden, I noticed a figure in the road, just ahead. I slowed down and got a little closer. The figure hopped up and started to run away.
I stopped my scooter, lifted the shield of my helmet, and looked back. The lone coyote had stopped and was also looking back at me.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I said. “Nice to see you.”
We sat there a few moments longer, looking at each other. Then I turned my head, let off the brakes, and started to slowly glide down the hill, with a smile. I felt a bit like Fantastic Mr. Fox when he meets the wolf, except without the posse to prove it.
Next day, I did some research. Apparently, coyotes are both social and solitary animals. They can thrive in their original family unit or in a pack that has mixed members. They also have an impressive ability to adapt into foreign environments, including those heavily populated by humans, like areas in southern California, for example.
I wondered at the coyote on Avenida California. He was alone that night. He didn’t appear to be hunting either. He was lying down in the middle of the road, seemingly resting. Even though he wasn’t lone-howling, I wanted to give that coyote a hug. But I knew he would probably bite my throat because he doesn’t need a hug like I do when I’m feeling lonely.
A few hours before I met the lone coyote, I felt a sudden pang in my heart. I was watching a television show and admiring how the family had each other, every day, to talk to. I know it’s silly because the family is make-believe, but I know some real families like this. I started comparing.
My first thought was, do I have that kind of steady communication with anyone in my life right now? The second: is there anyone I can imagine having it with?
Then I went on a wild ride of swirling thoughts: why do I struggle to call people? What if I did call more often, would they get sick of me? This is kind of how I am, though, prone to live a somewhat solitary existence. Is it how I am, though? I remember times when I was in constant community, and it was nice. Has traveling messed up my brain somehow? Sometimes I fear getting too close to people because I never know how long I’ll be in one place. Goodbyes are the worst. Etcetera.
I somehow managed to remind myself of a few things:
- I don’t have to let my crazy thoughts run wild like that.
- I’ve survived a far more intense loneliness than what I sometimes experience presently (not that that diminishes my present struggles in any way, but it does add perspective).
- Feeling lonely is an invitation to experience something beyond myself, something spiritual.
“But the more I think about loneliness, the more I think that the wound of loneliness is like the Grand Canyon — a deep incision in the surface of our existence which has become an inexhaustible source of beauty and self-understanding … perhaps the painful awareness of loneliness is an invitation to transcend our limitations and look beyond the boundaries of our existence.” ~Henri Nouwen, The Wounded Healer
I read Nouwen’s The Wounded Healer while I was living in Juba, South Sudan. At that point, I had no idea as to what depths I would experience loneliness. In the end, his words became a balm for my wounded spirit during those years.
I searched relentlessly, for the beauty and self-understanding in loneliness. I wondered how to do it: how to transcend my limitations. And guess what? I figured it all out! Just kidding. In reality, here’s what I did: I coped the best I could. I started to learn how to dance with loneliness.
There were things that didn’t turn out so well. Like when I dated a guy knowing I didn’t really have feelings for him. What. a. disaster. Or when I smoked cigarettes that probably had materials far worse than nicotine, tucked into the tobacco.
And there were some things that did turn out well, like falling in love with cooking and throwing dance parties in my kitchen while I did so. And adopting a wild cat who would have bitten my neck like the coyote if I ever got too close, but I kept loving and feeding him (her?) anyway and named him Richard Parker. And becoming good friends with a few South Sudanese people.
I have a feeling I will continue to struggle with loneliness for the rest of my life. I also have a feeling I’m not alone in this. This gives me hope in some strange way. I don’t wish it for us, but it’s there and so, it’s good to be on the journey together. But what do we do? How do we dance with loneliness?
We start by heaping generous amounts of love on ourselves. Be gentle with ourselves. Have grace on ourselves.
We can remember this is part of the human experience. And even if it’s a painful part, there is comfort and hope in knowing we share it.
We can continue to connect. Love the people in our lives. Love strangers. Love coyotes and other animals. Love God if you love God. Just love.
We can lean into loneliness and find the beauty waiting to be discovered there. This is me leaning into loneliness, in some small way. This is my howl. Except it doesn’t feel so lone knowing we’re all in this together.
