You Can Say it Out Loud- "I'm Lonely"

In case you’re late to this party of mine, I still have a 9-5 job. Because passion projects take time and it suits my personal brand to tell Alexa to play 9 to 5 by Dolly Parton while I fix my morning coffee and take my luxurious ten-yard stroll from my kitchen to my Carrie Bradshaw corner. 

I had a late call yesterday with my work wife, Michelle. Working a 9-5 today means joining a Zoom call and making small talk about the weather, how sleep deprived you are and what you had for lunch or if you had lunch at all, in that order. She let out a sigh and asked, “how are you?” like she could feel my heaviness.

I looked into the tiny little camera that has replaced true eye contact and said, “you know, I’m really lonely.” As soon as I said those words out loud, I could feel my bottom lip start to curl. I pretended to take a sip from my empty coffee mug to keep from bursting into tears. There’s something about saying “I’m fine, I’m fine” over and over again until someone genuinely asks how you’re doing and you absolutely lose it. 

“You’re the first person I’ve heard say that out loud but I’ve really been feeling it too,” she said. “I miss going out, I miss my people, I’m not built for this!”

There’s a feeling that comes with the word “lonely”-  naming my feelings made me deflate like one of those cartoony balloons in an antidepressants commercial. The word itself sounds like a whine- lonelyyyyyy.

The pandemic gloom I was feeling in March is back and it’s a weighted blanket over every silver lining we found in warmer days, except this weighted blanket isn’t a comfort at all and, instead, makes me hyper-aware of what an extrovert I am and I didn’t even know it. 

This place was always the easiest city to be alone in because you’re never truly alone here. You walk outside and you’re surrounded by strangers who also maybe want the anonymity and comfort of being alone in the herd. And if you decide you want some company, no problem- you walk into any coffee shop or bar and strike up conversation with strangers. In fact, it’s offensive to not talk to strangers in New York. 

We just got through the long Thanksgiving weekend and I spent three of the four days wandering Brooklyn aimlessly, participating in a dance of magnets, all spaced roughly six feet apart. And then I came home and broke down crying because as a newly self-proclaimed extrovert, I didn’t realize the weight of mourning that i’ve been feeling until now, seeing the sidewalks a little more bare and less colorful than they were all summer long. Someone tried to shake my hand at the dog park and I awkwardly pointed my elbow at him instead, thinking, “Are you high?! What are you doing!” But I really wanted to shake his hand. While I’m grateful for my mask protecting me from the windchill, I wouldn’t believe you if you told me a year ago that I’d spend the seasons smiling behind linen and elastic, hoping someone walking by could still tell I’m smiling and not just passing by faceless.

I swore I loved my own company more than anyone else’s, but I take it back. As we’ve passed the year-long mark of this pandemic, I can wave a white flag on behalf of introverts and accept I’m not wired for this bubble of isolation. So I write this to remind you that it’s okay if you’re feeling lonely and you don’t entirely understand the overwhelm or static anxiety. Or maybe it hasn’t hit you yet. I have dear friends who have husbands and wives and kids and plenty of family or friends they’re surrounded by daily, but they’re also in this lonely boat.

Once I hit publish on these words, I’ll be spending a few hours writing postcards to strangers. Why? Because I put the offer out there and the fact that I had thirty six people ask for a piece of snail mail from someone they don’t know tells me the world is lonely right now, it’s not just me and it’s not just you. 

There isn’t much of a sunshiny resolution to this post, but it needs to be said - I can’t write the magic words that will make you feel any less alone but I hope this post will be your permission slip to feel whatever you’re feeling. Give yourself a tight hug, as silly as it may feel. Have a good cry for the world we miss - it’s not gone, it’s just healing and hibernating. In the meantime, reach out to your people, get back to doing the things that are yours and yours alone, and smile at strangers under your mask- I promise they can tell.