The Speed of the Sound of Loneliness
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One big drawback to living with cats is they're not good at holding a conversation. Monologues, yes, which I mostly understand, that have to do with food, competition, my lap, and bad weather. And food. I would actually be interested to hear if blue jays taste better than gophers and why they don't eat that one internal organ always left on the carpet. I bet they could tell me what's happened to some of our cats who've disappeared. But about these subjects they are mum.
I have lively discussions with the baristas at my favorite coffee shop, and my friends and I talk each others' ears off. But I actually spend most of my days either by myself or teaching, which is another monologue sport. Facebook provides an interesting social scene I never expected, and now and then a good conversation emerges, but mostly it tends toward one-liners or argumentation. Writing has aspects of conversation to it — I get to propose something I'm interested in. But no one responds, or they respond a few days later, after they've heard me on the radio.
What I'm thinking about right now is the paper-thin line between solitude and loneliness — why the first is replenishing and the second debilitating, when in both cases you might just be sitting on your front stoop listening to wind in the trees. A mother of three teenagers would call it blessed solitude when her kids are all at the movies and she gets a minute to herself. Whereas a bachelor could feel crushed by loneliness sitting out there wondering what the hell to make for dinner for the two-hundredth time.[image error]
I call it solitude when I'm in a good mood and saw a lot of people the day before. But if it's the fifth night by myself and the phone is silent, I'm near the screaming level of loneliness. The quickest fix for me is to go to the grocery store. Seeing all those checkers I've known for years is oddly comforting, and reminds me I live in this particular town and haven't just drifted off the edge of the world. Usually then I can gather up enough energy to call a friend or make some kind of plan so I won't be alone the next day.
People in families have no idea what privileges they enjoy: to be touched, to belong, to engage in conversation. I don't mean to idealize anything... we all know families can be hard, too. But the dilemma of managing your own loneliness is often solved just by proximity. People who live in isolation have to be on the ball not to let it get out of hand. That cliff-edge over the Sea of Despond is always closer than you think.
Which is one reason I frequent my favorite coffee shop almost every morning. Today, as I was writing, a friend settled into his chair beside me and said,
“For my 16th birthday my dad took me bear hunting.”
Now that's what I call a conversation-starter.
