La Solitude

Why do I dislike being alone so much? This is a question I have posed to myself from time to time and usually when single – when I am unable to share my life with someone else. Is it that I need someone else in an emotional sense? Perhaps. I like being able to share my feelings with someone special – there is a certain inexplicable magic in the connection that keeps me energized and positive. Is it that I am filling some void in myself with someone else? Maybe. I do feel a degree of emptiness when not involved, but especially after having been involved with someone so special and complementary to me. It widens the chasm, I guess. So… What’s really missing, and what is at the bottom of the pit?

I remember as a young teenager when my mom sat me down on my bed, placed her hands in mine, and told me something that I carry with me always. She told me that, like her, I was different from most other people – that I felt in a much deeper way than most do - that I had a capacity for empathy incomprehensible to anyone else. With this being an inherited trait of mine, she explained that I would experience life much more fully. My times of joy would be so overwhelming that I would cease to worry at all. I would experience sadness so profound that no one would understand my complete (but temporary) withdrawal from life. I would love so deeply that it actually hurt, and that I would be challenged to find someone who could love me back as much or more. While most of this has proven true over time, I think my “case” might be a little more moderate. I have certainly had my share of elation and despair, but have learned over time not to crest so highly or dive so deeply.

I haven’t answered my question.

I’m really unsure.

The answer may well be very simple: I have a need to share my life with someone. The dilemma is that most other guys don’t have such a need. Not to say I haven’t met any – in fact, anyone I’ve dated for any length of time seemed to be the same way, unless I was projecting my feelings onto them. Unfortunately, that’s entirely possible, given the way my mind works sometimes. Because of the depth of feelings I experience, perhaps my true need is to be with someone who understands and is not afraid of them?

I have talked full circle.

Honestly, the true joy in my life comes from making others happy – even if it is to my detriment. THAT is the unhealthy part. I may be onto something. Anita told me that until I was happy being alone, I could not be fully happy with someone else. Am I unhappy with myself? Not totally. I successfully completed graduate school with high marks; have a wonderful career in its infancy and poised to grow in many directions; have a nice, cozy place to live with all of the amenities I desire. Material goods.

I don’t care about WHAT I have.

I measure my success in many ways, and have thankfully grown to the extent that I know myself and can be myself unapologetically. I lived twenty-five years as someone else – in the closet as it were – and there is no telling what residual damage I might still have. I think we all carry at least a little of that with us, but I feel that I have reached a healthy balance at this point.

Another thing my mom told me stands out in my head. Actually, it’s something her father told her shortly before he died in the early 1980s: “When you look back on your life, it will not matter what you had or what you did – it will matter whom you loved.” Spot on.

My Wish

I see grey-blue that lets me know he’s sailed through storms before;
Deep jade shows rolling, verdant hills where he ponders and explores;
Flecks of brown reveal depth of soul and inner strength in store;
I wish him peace and courage to overcome
And that he be happy forevermore.

Epilogue

Indeed, he drifted back to me; but just as quickly as he reappeared, he vanished with the winter breeze.