Loneliness

Loneliness is not aloneness. As an introvert, I can embrace aloneness. When by myself, there is no demand to relate, to meet expectations, just the comfortableness of being.

 

One of my loneliest experiences was attending a brunch reception of fifty ladies where most had known each other for years. I mingled, attaching myself to the small clusters, standing at the fringe waiting to contribute to the conversations. A few interrupted their intercourse to say hello, but most chatted on about mutual friends without even a nod to acknowledge my presence. The invisible woman, the outsider unfamiliar with the people being discussed, I slipped out the front door. I had been in the group but not of the group.

 

The drive to join me and thee to become we is strong. Belonging requires relating, but there is risk in exposing the inner me. If I bare my soul and what I expose is rejected, denigrated, or worse deemed insignificant and irrelevant, what do I have left to offer?

 

Seldom have I penetrated others’ public personas to read the deeper wells of being. The inability to achieve intimacy pierces my soul, and yet to hide the pain I cling to my own mask of defensive presentation. A dance at arms’ length ensues. Two people meeting and moving in tandem, but not embracing. I am no longer alone, but I am lonely.