First of all, I begin this post as I have begun many a journal entry: “Wow! I can’t believe it’s been so long since I’ve written.” In fairness, life has had some interesting twists and turns in the last couple years, stifling my creative juices. Well, at least that’s my story, and I’m definitely sticking to it, hahaha! I have set aside a special writing space – both physical and in time – and I intend to try to use it with regularity. Wish me luck!
At the opening of this post I absolutely must include a warning; a caveat, if you will. I am going to write about some very personal experiences, but they are not designed to engender pity or guilt or disgust at me or anything other than serving as a vehicle for my topic. It’s an important topic, I believe, and I believe the best way to discuss it is through rather personal means. I once had a boss who daily reminded me that “loose lips sink ships.” This was code for his belief that I shared far too much of myself with others. Those things included telling the mucky-mucks at the Muscular Dystrophy Association that I had never really golfed before right before I was to enter a celebrity golf tournament. It included telling clients that I was returning to school. It included sharing my thoughts on sports instead of remaining neutral and letting others share their views. I’ve never been good at hiding myself. Ben used to give a verbal “glub glub” when he felt I was going to make myself too vulnerable by opening up to strangers. It never served its purpose, I’m afraid. I was, and will always be, the loosest of all loose lips that sank any navy. Anyway, with that rather ominous introduction I re-enter the world of my blog and write once again about finding joy.
Up above I’ve posted a picture of a road. I love pictures like this, for they speak of adventures to be had and unknown places to be explored. They have always spoken to me in an inviting, enticing manner. Of late, however, these pictures have taken on a different tone. They speak instead of loneliness, of an empty road to be traversed alone. It feels sad, not exciting. It’s so interesting how life experiences change the way we view objectively neutral pictures, isn’t it?
As I mentioned up above, I am a loose lips kinda gal. As an extrovert, I draw my energy from other people: their association, praise, and conversation. I have always been this way. My mom used to say that I collected friends the same way some people collect spoons or shot glasses on vacations. I cannot think of a time in my life when I wasn’t surrounded by lots and lots of people. No time, that is, until recent years.
After Ben died I discovered that I obviously spent a lot more time by myself. I appreciated the increased solitude, actually, especially since I knew my friends were just a phone call away. We still went to dinner and hung out and talked – a lot. My daughter was on her mission, but I wrote to her nightly – sharing all my experiences and thoughts from the day. I continued serving in church in visible and people-focused ways. I was alone, but there was no way my life could be termed isolated.
I moved away from my friend network and made new friends in my new home. Yes, they all had lives that kept them busy, but I was busy getting settled myself. Then Elizabeth came home, and I had someone to talk with every day. Even when she lived away at college we texted and called on a regular basis. I also had church assignments that were fulfilling and time consuming. I was surrounded by people in my assignments, using my talents and growing significantly.
Well, all of that came to a screeching halt. Elizabeth got engaged, and then married. I lost all my positions at church. My friends continued being busy. I could only reach my dad about 5% of the time, and even then, we didn’t speak about my personal life. I took a job working with neurodivergent children and I drew great energy from talking with parents and receiving the hugs of the children. I loved my co-workers. Talking with people at work, though, mostly occurred during business hours, so once I was home I was again completely alone. I could share my life a little with friends if one of them had time at church, but otherwise I was on my own. I went from being alone, but the center of the group, to essentially being isolated.
On Fridays I would drive home from work with the heavy weight of panic on my chest, terrified of the upcoming weekend of isolation. A trip to the store was a big deal. My only real interaction would be at church, usually giving small talk for a few minutes, but knowing that I didn’t really have a place within the church community any longer. I’m old. I’m odd. I’m single. It’s a triple whammy that is hard to measure. It was extremely hard and for a while I was plunged into a deep and dark slough of depression – a swamp so large that I couldn’t see my way out of it.
I was blessed to be healed from the depression. Unfortunately that healing didn’t cure the isolation. I reached out to try to build relationships, only to discover that my triple whammy – especially the part about being odd – made those attempts rather futile. I tried my best to hide from the pain, and for the most part I succeeded. I continued loving my job and I tried to put all my emotional energy there.
There came a day, however, that I could no longer hide. I had received a major promotion at work. I was so excited about it! I had so many ideas running around in my head about how I would do this job. I was scared, and I was thrilled. I wanted to share my news so badly. Unfortunately there was no one to share it with. Elizabeth was studying for the Bar exam, and I’d promised to not text or disturb her. Nobody else would really care. Before you say that I didn’t give anyone a chance, when I finally did share my news it was exactly as I anticipated: there was no interest in learning details or hearing more about it. I didn’t blame them: this was small compared to the big things that they had going on in their own life. Anyway, after being unable to think of anyone to rejoice with I went home. I texted Elizabeth and she “hearted” my text. (She at a later time did take the time to text and ask me details about the position.) After I texted Elizabeth, I took a Hostess cupcake from the cupboard and celebrated – by myself. It felt pathetic. It felt… isolated.
Since that experience I have tried to work through the lessons I can learn from my current situation.
I hope to live to be well over 100. I love this world and I can’t stand the thought of not being a part of it. I don’t believe that God intends me to live the next 35-40 years in suffocating isolation. It doesn’t feel right. So, if life isn’t going to continue in this way, and I can’t seem to find a way out of the isolation on my own, then what is the purpose of this time in my life?
I am at heart a hopeless optimist. I believe that God has a genuine legitimate purpose for me on this earth. I feel as though I am in a holding pattern, though. I’m not exactly a spring chicken, so what could I possibly be in a holding pattern for? I have no idea.
I do know, however, what it is I would like to be. I want to be capable enough that if I were asked on a moment’s notice to put together a musical number, write an article, take dinner to someone in need, give a speech, calm a frightened child, or teach a lesson that I could do it. I want to always be a net positive in whatever community I am in. That means, then, that I must be prepared for such an eventuality – should it occur. Continuing to read my nerdish books will help me have a broader understanding of the world; keeping up on current events will keep me from being caught unawares when events of the world become large; being a student of history will help me warn about pitfalls in our path; staying close to the Lord will allow me to hear the Spirit and “go where [He] wants me to go”; taking care of my health will give me the freedom to live to my hundred-plus years; cheering on Olympic athletes allows me to be a part of something bigger than myself – even if I only have the dogs to hear my cheers.
A phrase showed up on my calendar today. It reads, “Am I on the right path to where I want to go?” It is similar to the Cheshire Cat’s response to Alice down in Wonderland about how you need to know where you’re going before you can ask for directions. Figuring out exactly where I want to go and who I want to be and what I want to do are critical if I am ever going to accomplish those ideals. This time of isolation allows me to figure that out, away from any clamoring sounds of mere busyness. Sitting in church might be painful but knowing that I’m there not for fellowship but to partake of the Lord’s sacrament helps me take another step on the path I wish to traverse. Having a life of isolation allows me to have time and space to figure out ways to help the children I work with. Being alone helps me feel empathy for those around me – allowing me to be of greater service.
King Solomon once stated that there is a season for everything under Heaven. I always understood that as it pertained to the broader brush strokes of life, but now I’m seeing it in the finer detail work as well. “Be still and know that I am God” has never been an easy injunction for me. I’m not comfortable being still and I’m not comfortable in silence. Recognizing, however, that within those two elements one can find the deepest answers, the greatest growth, and the sweetest peace is such a beautiful gift.
To totally butcher the words of the psalmist, isolation may endure for a night, but joyful busyness in the work of the Lord cometh in the morning. Being prepared for such a morning is my goal. I hope if you’re going through a similar time of isolation that this can be your goal, too. “Someday we’ll find it, [this] rainbow connection, the lover, the dreamer, and me.” Follow the rainbow of faith and hope. God’s plan is perfect. He loves His children. Trusting Him to give us what we need when we need it is hard, but oh so rewarding! Hang on, and just keep on “waiting for [that] light to shine!”
Look to God and Live... Joyfully! 