November in Connecticut isn't exactly nice most of the time. Sometimes it snows, which is fine (although annoying because despite that being a good possibility, we're never ready for it). Sometimes it's rainy and cold and wet and nasty - mostly it seems some years. And then, because it's New England, there are those one or two shiny, sunny, 60 degree days. You hope they fall on an idle Saturday - and usually, they don't.
Today was a beautiful late fall day - a meeting-laden, stress-filled, exhausting busy work Friday. G shared a nice, although somewhat fast-moving (at least for him) cold, so I felt like shit from the moment I got in the office. I had an 8:30, 8:45, 9:30, 10:30, and an 11 - and I had testing I had to sign off on by noon that I hadn't started. You get the picture. I got in at 8:05 to an "emergency" call and there it went.
By the time 12:30 rolled around, I was sort of hungry, cranky, a little frustrated with my work and personal life, and needed a breather. Luckily, I never bring lunch on Friday (when our refrigerator looks like it was just delivered with some complimentary bottled water and wine - LOL) - so I had to get the hell out of that building.
I was surprised when I walked out of the building (my office is in the basement, which is exposed on one side, although not within my sight line unless I turn around) and not only was it not freezing cold, it was pleasantly warm (mid 50s) and so sunny I needed my sunglasses. It was wonderful.
After passing through the seat belt check point not subtley placed about 500 feet from our office - twice - I decided I would not work while shoving my sandwich down my throat. It was too nice to go inside - and I needed some time alone to shake the cobwebs out of my head.
I sat quietly at the picnic table with my sandwich and my thoughts. It was weird - for the millionth time in the recent past portion of my adult life, I thought about loneliness and the irony of loneliness.
I am a wife and a mother and a daughter and a big sister and an employee and a collegue and a friend. I am surrounded by people a good portion of my day. I have more friends now that I had as a child and especially as a teenager, and they are, to a person, great and amazing and supportive people.
So how come I feel lonely so much?
People equate loneliness to be alone. As the mother of an only child (by my choice - and his father's resignation I guess), I get a lot of crap that G will be or is lonely because he's alone.
But the thing is, not being alone doesn't insulate you from loneliness.
I remember being lonely as a child - and I had two siblings (sometimes much to my chagrin and no, that's no secret to them - I don't feel that way now) to play with all the time. But they were almost Irish twins and great friends - and I was an introverted, weird, nerdy kid who - in retrospect - isolated herself in some ways due to rampant insecurity and unhappiness. So even then, I was never alone (how could I be sharing that small room with my sister) and often lonely.
There I sat, at that picnic table - alone - and I was reminded that while I felt a little lonely there, I also had felt lonely in the office. I'm not lonely all the time, but it definitely ebbs and flows, and today was an oddly lonely day. I think I was in a self-pitying kind of mood because I didn't feel well, and because a few things had happened that morning that reminded me of a problem in my personal life that's long-standing, and just isn't fixable, and is making me feel frustrated, sad, and is isolating.
It was just one of those introspective moments where I was reminded that - like I said - loneliness isn't the same as alone. You can be in a crowded room with 100 of your friends and be lonely - it certainly happens to me.
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