Loneliness of a Solitary Elder

Loneliness brings its own unique gifts.

I am an elder woman, an elder keeper of wisdom (the newest way that I refer to myself in my own head), who has always loved solitude, who best comes home to myself when I’m alone, who only hears my own inner voice when it has the space to speak to me. With no one around to compete with it. In the quiet.

Perhaps having been an only child contributes to this. Or the introvert part of me is coming to the forefront during these times. 

I love my solitude.

I love my friends and community as well. I need them in my life. 

And I need a significant amount of alone time and quiet space.

 Not that I don’t distract myself with social media, tv, trips to the refrigerator to try and fill a hunger that is not for food. I’m quite human with all that. It’s humbling. 

And even with all that, I still crave my own company.

This loneliness is the hunger inside me, perhaps, to really hear what my spirit is trying to tell me. It’s the restlessness that will continue its inner rumblings until I stop and hear it and try to name it. 

I felt that loneliness today. 

Today was a day that I very intentionally spent by myself, feeling like I had done enough “peopling” this past week. I reach a certain quota of socializing and find that I then need to schedule time with no one else around me. My head literally feels like it’s buzzing after being with others for a while. I try to listen intently and deeply to others, and then need to be alone afterward to absorb and to quiet all that I have taken in. 

It’s an interesting phenomenon that with this need for solitude, I notice this loneliness inside me. It can be a bit confusing, to both want to be completely alone for a while, and yet feel this deep loneliness. 

It’s ok. It is, I believe, a part of the human condition. It’s a deep feeling, this loneliness, and one that I can even feel in the company of others. Sometimes even more so in others’ company as it becomes clear that this is a longing that others cannot fill. 

My loneliness is a type of sadness for me, an ache. For what, I am not completely sure. Sadness about the human condition? The brevity of our life span? The time it has taken me to finally find my voice, now at the age of 70? To finally be able to put myself at the top of the list of who to please? And now able to erase the rest of that list, for the most part.

It is also, at least, partly a longing for connection, a longing for a deep connection. A connection to my own soul. A connection that I seem to feel most these days when I express my voice through my painting or my writing. 

Or when I walk in the redwoods. 

Or when I watch the elephants at the zoo, where I volunteer. As I slow my breathing down and sync myself to their life rhythm, to their being in the moment. Animals teach me much about being present, living in the here and now. 

I feel the aloneness of this human journey we are each on. The aloneness of the final days of the trip that we will all take. The final step being one that we each take on our own. Stepping into the unknown darkness. Letting go of this life as we know it.

I notice wistful longing for things that were not part of my life, intentionally, but that I still can wonder about at times. A marriage that ended after 12 years. What might it have been like to grow old with someone that has known me for that long?

I chose not to have children. What might that have been like to see life going on in generations to come, of my bloodline? Watching a friend and his excitement about his first grandchild coming. And detecting a bit of wistfulness in his eyes, a memory of having his own first child, that child who will now become a mother. 

Do any of those things that I have mentioned really make a difference in this final solitary journey that we will each take? 

I wonder about life’s purpose and what that is. Have I expressed this in my life? Is my writing and painting now coming close to helping with this? What have I done with this one precious life? 

Have I loved enough? Have I appreciated it all enough? Have I followed my heart and passion? Have I lived, truly lived? Is there time left to do any of that anymore? 

I talk to all those that have died when I visit my parents’ crypt at the mausoleum. What would they share with me? What was their life like? Who remembers them? I greet all the new residents there each time. We will each have our date to join them. 

So, here I am, this evening, sitting quietly with all these thoughts and feelings. Sitting quietly with myself. Breathing into it all. Letting it all pass through me. 

I’m grateful for it all. For life, for all the feelings. For the poignancy of this human condition. For our precious lives. For the space to share some of this here with you all. For the connection that this brings me to others who may read and resonate with what I write. 

I get sad. I get lonely. I feel joy. And such awe at the wonder of it all. What an amazing gift that this life is. With all its ups and downs, joys and pain, gifts, and challenges. What a journey. With questions, a few answers, and some that will never be answered. 

Even loneliness can be beautiful. Haunting, poignant, rich, and full of life. I am still alive to feel it. I am still here.