I was lying in bed last night wide-eyed. I couldn’t fall asleep. Maybe it was the large coffee I had in the evening. Maybe it was from the high of connecting with great friends just prior. Maybe it was from the mid-day nap I took over my drool-stained pillows. Who knows. But I couldn’t help but feel an angst, an anxiety, a need to do something. I wanted to pick up my phone. I wanted to watch a video. I wanted to read a book. I wanted to do anything. I wasn’t comfortable with just lying there not doing nothing.
I was alone. Was this loneliness? That’s a bad thing right? Why do we inherently associated being lonely with a bad feeling? Is it an inherently bad feeling or is the negativity a name tag that we place on it post-production? I don’t know. I’m not emotional aware enough to know the difference. Or maybe I can’t articulate it adequately.
What I do know is that I am able to control what I think about the situation. I could suffer from the feeling of loneliness that flooded me without my permission. Or maybe I could feel grateful that I even felt lonely. In our age of constant distractions, I’d actually become exceptionally well at not feeling lonely. Who had time to be lonely? I was too busy.
Maybe feeling lonely is exactly what I need once in a while. To shock me once in a while. To keep me on my toes. To remind me that despite the tremendous feeling of love and belonging that life offers, there’s a certain beauty in being alone. To remind me that life is not just black, not just white, but often a shade of the two mixed together.I’ve always thought that the best way appreciate something is to abstain from it. To separate yourself from it. The lack of something forces you to come to terms with its impermanence and thus, its value. You are forced to reflect on its beauty. You are forced to be grateful. Maybe the pangs of loneliness we feel are really just life reminding us to appreciate what we have now. Our toys. Our relationships. Our bodies. They will not last forever.
