Lonely vs. Alone

I find it in brief moments, and I have to catch my breath. 

This isn’t new, and I’m not special. Loneliness, that is. I’ve debated for months whether to write or even share this, but I think it’s important to be upfront about what seems to be a glamorous life.  

And yes, I understand the optics; sometimes I get whisked away to work in Business class, other times I get interesting experiences while I’m on the road. I’m compensated well for my decision-making, but also for my time away from home. 

That’s usually when it hits me. I’m gone for approximately two weeks, and depending on how busy the roster is, I’m usually ready to go home on day 10. The excitement wears off, and I crave the familiarity of my own space; the stress of travel sets in. I spend a lot of time alone, and I'm self-sufficient in that regard— eating alone, going to the movies alone, and, hell, living alone.

When I walk in the door to an empty house, a wave of anguish passes over me. I go through the motions of settling in, and it varies on my energy level whether I want to engage with the rest of the world; any crewmember can tell you that it takes some time to decompress from the road. Exhaustion notwithstanding, I would love to be greeted by a wiggly tail or even the warm embrace of someone special. 

I rely a lot on social media to stay connected and engaged with family and friends. But we all know the detriments of scrolling too long. This creates an odd parasocial element, wherein people know certain aspects of what I share, but not the full story. Again, this isn’t special, because we’re all painting a canvas of our best lives. I attempt to be transparent, even when I’m struggling, because there are far too many people going through it while pretending everything is fine— which is a disservice to both them and their audience. Life is messy and intricate and a paradox, so it’s ok not to be linear in how you show up, so long as you do. 

Using Facebook or Instagram or even Twitter (though I’ve migrated to Bluesky), it makes me feel less alone— but that doesn’t stave off or even solve the loneliness.  

All of this isn’t so much of a complaint as it is a confession. And for the love of Gagá, do not mistake this confession as a pity party. By all accounts, I have a wonderful life, especially compared to where I have been. This is just a peek into the underbelly of a charmed situation.

Complaining, then, is cathartic, but it’s annoying without a solution. Earlier this year, I started cold plunging— a friend told me about this collective of people running into cold water, aptly named Coldwater Collective. Basically, we show up on the beach and walk into Puget Sound like lunatics. I’m no stranger to a romp in icy waters to get the ol’ noggin to make better chemicals, so I showed up. And I kept showing up, as much as I could when I was home. Over time, I got to know a core group.

This is now my “church” on Sunday mornings— and on a particularly sunny morning this summer, I stood with Cassandra (a gem of a human and a dead ringer for Nicole Kidman, but I digress) and Sam (a cheeky, direct British love). It was suddenly 1 p.m., and either it was the gorgeous weather or the company, but I blurted out, “I don’t feel lonely right now.” And it was so true, because I had spent the last four hours with them, none of us wanting to leave and relishing in each other’s company. Specifically for these plungers, it’s a non-religious gathering, but I find a lot of spirituality in our brunches. The connection I feel to them and the welcoming nature for newbies is something I cherish and miss when I can’t make it. 

Community is out there. On my local level, Seattle has a bad rap for being too insular, but I find that a personal problem. There are many ways you can quell the loneliness, and unfortunately none of it involves rotting in bed— though that is appealing at times! I’m finding the value of in-person connections, supplemented by the power of social media while I’m away.

I know this is a similar struggle for many of us. We’re not meant to be as isolated as our society makes us— and even with the tools in our pockets, that dreaded electronic leash, we’re still separated by other forces, perhaps by design. Let’s buck the system and get all up in each other’s business in healthy ways. I implore you to get out of the group chat and into real life as much as you can (this is advice I’m giving to myself, too). Even if you spend an extra minute talking to the Trader Joe’s cashiers, a very reliable source of dopamine, it all adds up for a somewhat manageable human experience. 

The end of this year has been, bluntly, not fun. To sum it up, I got dumped via text message after five months and then watched my grampa die. I’m honest when I say that I’m not ok, and it’s not going well. Perhaps that’s shocking and against the grain as a normal response to “How are you doing?” Well, haven’t we all heard it’s ok not to be ok? I won’t accept platitudes just to make you comfortable— Robert Frost said, “The best way out is always through.” If I’ve learned anything, it’s that I’m resilient. Each time I bounce back stronger with better stories. This is by far not my darkest hour, and I’m grateful for that as we celebrate the Winter Solstice. I’m finding harmony in the sadness. New light. New love.