Last weekend, I sat alone in my piercingly quiet room and listened to my neighbors celebrate a birthday in their backyard. I declined the invitation to join them, but that’s beside the point. I warmly remember the summer days where my ex-husband and I would have a house full of our friends and their kids. Everyone zipping around, eating, laughing, and enjoying each other’s company. I knew right then that I wanted to write a piece about aloneness vs. loneliness. I thought to myself; I love my alone time, but… And as the rest of that sentence naturally surfaced, I realized I didn’t know what the idiom, ‘for the birds,’ even meant.
Horse shit.
‘For the birds’ refers to birds picking out food (grains and seeds) from horse manure after it drops onto the ground. Ha! That sounds about right, I thought. Being lonely is a bunch of horseshit! I scoffed.
So, I ran with it.
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Aloneness Vs. Loneliness
My therapist got my wheels turning last month about the difference between aloneness and loneliness. It blew my mind. (He does that from time to time, you know.) I was resistant at first, thinking there is no difference. It’s all the same damn thing to me. Then, the weeks passed, and my heavy emotions rose and fell into place. I discovered the staggering significance between being alone and feeling lonely.
Aloneness.
I love being alone. It took me a while to figure this out, but if I’m around too many people, picking up on too many frequencies, my transmitter blows a fuse, and I need to be alone to recharge.
I love that about myself. I honor it as much as I can these days.
I can sit for hours (uninterrupted, hopefully) and think, write, and zone out. It’s my grounding space. When I’m alone, I’m a badass; writing up a storm on this platform while composing new guitar riffs in my underwear that would make John Frusciante squeal with delight and my self-confidence take flight. But as high as I fly in my aloneness, it then comes crashing down to an all-time low in my loneliness.
Loneliness.
Loneliness is a quiet ache of solitude and heartbreak. I can’t think when I’m lonely. Or, more accurately, all that’s on my mind is how lonely I am and how life is not supposed to be this way. My “friends” weren’t supposed to believe my ex-husband’s smear campaign. They. Know. Me. They know who I am. What terrible things did he accuse me of for them not support me or bother to hear my side? My kids weren’t supposed to live in a house that their mother isn’t welcome in and has no trace of her in it. I wasn’t supposed to be lonely at thirty-eight because I, we, got married together, forever, at twenty-two. It is all a bunch of horseshit. But just like the English Sparrows that pick out the undigested oats from horse crap to nourish themselves, there is a purpose — a rhyme and reason for my loneliness.
There has to be.
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The Take-Away
I love being alone. But loneliness is for the birds — and I hate it. Nevertheless, I have come to appreciate my “quiet time.” And I know that it is within my loneliness when I need to nourish myself the most. You may not always understand why things happen (or what they mean)— but hold on to yourself and dig deeper. You might have to dig through a lot of crap first, but you’ll figure out how to take care of yourself — eventually.
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This post was previously published on Medium.
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Photo credit: Randy Fath on Unsplash