alone in the room

I am alone, surrounded by a sea of people. I am alone, even within myself. The isolated experience is killing me, yet to risk being seen feels like death. If I show others the real me… even the little connection I have will be taken from me. I can’t let them come any closer, and I can’t stand the loneliness.

Sound familiar?

A few years ago I was on a trip to Nashville, Tennessee to visit some friends who live just south of town. I had some time to kill (which is an odd expression if you think about it – Kill time? Spend time? Use time? Run out of time? Sam, don’t fall down the Time rabbit hole again! Roger that.) and I found myself in a coffee shop in Franklin with airy windows, fresh cut flowers, and a cortado that put some life back in my veins.

I was in a town I had never been to and didn’t anticipate needing to put down roots for such a short visit. I already knew who I was there to see and I was surrounded by strangers who knew nothing about me – not where I had come from or where I was going. I was an extra, passing by their scene for a brief moment.

That moment was lonely, and strangely it also wasn’t. Parts of me knew why I felt alone, knew the justification for why I felt out of place. After all, I was just passing through. Part of me loves that freedom of movement and exploring new places. 

Other parts of me felt the loneliness of the moment and wondered, if something happens to me will any of these strangers care? Who will move toward me if I am in need?

I’ll take the stakes up a notch.

I have felt that same loneliness in my hometown. In a coffee shop that I have visited dozens of times. At the birthday party of a close friend. At times while with my own family. Yes, even with myself. The justification of “only passing through” feels a little hollow in these places.

There are a lot of reasons for this experience, but one of them is that over time we become versions of ourselves that we believe will keep us the most safe and gain us the best chance at attachment. We learn to set our preferences aside and to acquiesce to the expectations of those around us. We learn to be positive, only ever positive, only ever cheerful and upbeat, because that is what we watched our parents do.

We learn to put ourselves last, to never say “no” to a request, to try with everything that we have to make people happy and pleased with our performance. 

And then we wonder… why do I feel so alone? Who have I become over the years?

Over the years we learn to sacrifice our authenticity for the sake of safety and connection, and it’s little wonder that after a while we play the part so long we don’t feel that others really know the real us, the real you, the real me. And then of course the fear. We’ve played these roles and built our jobs and friendships and families and lives around a partial truth, so what will they do with the rest of it?

I would like to say that the fears of rejection are unfounded. That confetti will fall from a false ceiling and we’ll sing the first genuine Happy Birthday as we welcome you to the world in fullness for the first time.

The truth is, I don’t know how they will respond. I can venture a guess…

When we stop people pleasing, people stop being pleased. When we show anger and sadness instead of only cheerfulness, some people will be concerned and perhaps distance themselves. When we set boundaries, some people will be hurt and withdraw while others will lash out.

Here is the secret though: we can’t control them. Not really. And it was never our job to do so.

Of course our actions and affect have consequences. But the real control we have had all along was with ourselves. The journey to recovering, or discovering for some, our true heart takes time. But it begins with a call to some personal honesty. Have we drifted from what makes us creative, compassionate, loving, engaged, honest, curious, playful… were you ever allowed to be that person?

For today, I invite each of us to notice where we are on that journey. Are there parts of us that are waiting for us to notice once again. By way of close, a poem:

Love after Love

The time will come

when, with elation

you will greet yourself arriving

at your own door, in your own mirror

and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.

You will love again the stranger who was your self.

Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart

to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored

for another, who knows you by heart.

Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,

peel your own image from the mirror.

Sit. Feast on your life.

— Derek Walcott