Loneliness, will you be my Friend?

Without fail, every once in a while, I revert to my 16 year old self who ardently believes that in order to feel loved, valued, and like I belong, I have to have some sort of plans on Friday night with other people. Sunday through Thursday, who cares? Stuff happens. Bedtime is earlier (for us Monday-Friday workers at least). And Saturday, it's always good to have plans but feels less urgent than Friday night for some reason. This 16 year old self that I speak of doesn't just want to have plans with anybody, but specifically with someone who is really interested in seeing me and spending time with me. This 16 year old self wants to be wanted soooo badly.

Tonight was one of those nights. I could feel my 16 year old self creep into my mood around dinner time. She kinda took over, noticing how I was included in other people's plans but not an important element of those plans. She noticed how other people enjoyed having me around but could've done without me. I felt this happening and did my best to resist the take over. Had a short cry. Played a few songs. Tried to engage in meaningful conversations. None of that worked. My mood was taken captive by her and there is nothing I can do about it. So I sighed to myself and resigned myself to hanging out with my own loneliness until it decides to pass.

So often I spend energy trying to avoid feeling lonely. Too much of the time when I reach out to people these days it's not because I care about them or what they're up to or want to offer something to them. It's because I don't feel like being alone and want them to give me something. This reality makes me feel sad and a bit ridiculous. I mean, c'mon! Really? You don't have anything to give right now? Still?! I remember times in the past when I enjoyed making something for a friend, doing something kind for someone out of the blue, being totally interested in important events in other people's lives. It's heartening to remember that I indeed possess the capacity to relate to people in a selfless way. And I have to hope that these tides of grief will turn eventually and I will naturally have the desire do my part in loving the people around me. And perhaps in the meantime I'll even be able to motivate myself to practice random acts of kindness right now, even though I feel all needy.

I don't like feeling needy. It annoys me. I annoy myself when I get this way. And so I try to alter my emotions in some way, trying to fashion for myself a ladder out of the hole of loneliness. But I remember something Henri Nouwen once said about loneliness. He said that we should seek to befriend it. It will always be a part of life. We won't ever be able to avoid it, even if we've found someone to intimately share our life with. Rather than pushing it away and constantly trying to manipulate life in a way that will allow us to never have to feel lonely, we should befriend our loneliness.

So how do I do that? I don't really know. I suppose it means letting it be. Sitting with it? Doing something good for myself? Writing about it? Just being with myself until it passes.

This all feels very ho-hum and not spectacular. I don't do well with these humdrum necessities of living. I very much prefer the fireworks and parade-like excitement that comes with other elements of life. But I suppose I have to figure out how to live with the mundane survival of loneliness. And perhaps, with this clear sky dotted with dim stars, and this cozy living room recently trimmed with a wreath and Christmas lights, I'll find a way to make it through. And this loneliness that seems latched on forever right now will perhaps no longer be sitting in the base of my chest with a certain weight when I wake in the filtered and shaded December morning light.