Can we talk about loneliness?

Can we talk about loneliness?

With a bit of vulnerability
and honesty
please.

This past week has been hard.

No.
Scratch that.

The past decade has been hard.

Most days I do not think,
“I need human connection.”

I am a sailor,
-a psychologist,
-an introvert,
-a writer,
- a thinker,

-a kind of philosopher.

But before all of that
I am human.

And humans need other humans.

Because somehow
in connecting with others
we find pieces of ourselves
we did not know were missing.

As a child
I did not name loneliness.

Or maybe I did,
but in my own way.

I gave objects an identity.
Dolls, props, little things
became friends
foes
teachers
partners.

In youth
I traded those companions for friendships born of proximity.

Classmates.
Neighbors.
Whoever happened to be near.

By young adulthood
I found my cure—
a deep life partnership
and a few loyal friends
who still walk with me,
no matter the distance,
no matter the silence.

When I worked
with women
with children
with families
there was no time for loneliness.

As a mother
wife
daughter
granddaughter
sister
niece
cousin
loneliness swung like a pendulum—

the highest joy on one side,
the deepest grief on the other.

Now, as a grandmother
my role is still taking shape.

And I want more.

More proximity.
More snuggles.
More connection.
More of it all.

Looking back I see one truth.

Frequency matters.

Quantity and quality
both matter.

So I ask myself—
what am I to do with loneliness as I age?

Because aging
brings it closer to center stage.

Can I do anything now
to keep isolation from moving in later?

Is loneliness inevitable?

Will I return to the objects and props of childhood,
talking to them as though they are real?

Once it was called creativity.
Would it later be called delirium?

I read about loneliness as an epidemic.
And I am not surprised.

If I—
a communicator
a mother of four
with friendships around the world—
can feel isolated,
I can only imagine how others feel.

And I wonder…

Did technology have a hand in this?

Did my early chats with Siri or Alexa
quietly replace the conversations
with people who once sat
at my kitchen table?

That was never my intention.

But I know,
from teaching mindful living,

that outcomes like this
are rarely intentional.

No one sets a goal of loneliness.

So,

I return to my opening question.

Can we talk about it?

With a bit of vulnerability
and honesty
please.

And maybe
the real question is not whether we can talk about it,
but whether we can live
so it loosens its grip.