Embracing Desert Places

Let me tell you right now, there is no loneliness like the loneliness of a single adult without family.

It isn't that one is friendless, or uncared-for or unloved or even particularly unhappy.  The simple truth is that when one is alone in the world, when there is no one there for any major decision, or to be counted on with consistency, or, really, to build a life with, that my friends, is being alone.

All you happily-coupled folks, take a moment to think about being alone -no spouse, no kids, your family of birth has moved along to embrace those things, as have all of your friends.  All those people will be there if you get into a pinch, but you pretty much have to be in a pinch.  You are outside their 5 acres.

You are (I am) functionally irrelevant.  I realized I have more in common with my homeless friends than I do any of my married ones.

A formerly single friend of mine (married at age 35) is adamant about taking pictures of her single friends.  I asked her why, and she said she remembers that when she was single, no one ever took pictures of her.  When I thought about it, I realized the same is true for me.  I have almost no pictures of myself from age 25 to 43, except for those I specifically requested or necessary for work.

I conducted a bit of an experiment last week.  I decided to see, if I did not initiate contact, who would initiate contact with me.  I had a wonderful email from a dear friend in St. Louis, and a couple phone calls from a dear friend here in Flagstaff, one that occurred late last night because she was a wee bit worried about me.  I reassured them both that I would be fine... mostly from hope, rather than conviction.

On Saturday morning, I was supposed to run a 5k color run.  I diligently picked up my packet the day before.  In contemplating this event, this great sadness washed over me, and I realized I simply did not want to do one more damn thing alone.  I woke up in time, walked to medicine cabinet, downed a bunch of benedryl, and went back to sleep.

I realize this flies in the face of all my deeply-held beliefs, like, Everyone Counts, and that I believe in a God Whose Heart is My Home, yet, there it is.  Sometimes the loneliness is so very acute, merely getting out of bed seems utterly pointless.

“The most terrible poverty is loneliness, and the feeling of being unloved.”
― Mother Teresa

We all have our own desert places.  I'm just wondering when I get to leave it.  If I will get to leave it.  Will I be stuck here until I reach a wry acceptance of this time, or is my acceptance, itself, irrelevant?

One of my colleagues just stopped in and told me, looking directly into my teary eyes, "What you do matters.  Look at how many kids get to go to college because of you.  You've changed their lives and the lives of their families.  That matters."  Then she nodded and said, "This isn't the end of it, you know.  It is hard, but it will pass.  It isn't time to give up yet."

She is the third person to tell me that today.  Her words have weight because she has been there, in a strange desert where nothing is as it should be, where reality eats into you like sunburn.

SO here is my desert place. And off I go to wander around some more.