It squeezes me like it’s trying to make a point. My chest tightens, and a vortex between my lungs twists my insides like a blanket, knotting inward, slouching my shoulders, and constraining my limbs to a point of heaviness. Outside is a foreign country, with stone chapels and high cathedrals, white washed alleyways and cobble streets. There is a castle older than my nationality within 5 miles, shouldn’t I be excited? Instead, I’m stuck anchored to myself, heavy like a stone.
Yep. It sucked. Eleven years ago, surrounded by centuries-old beauty in rural Spain, I entered into my first relationship with loneliness. My response? Pure defiance.
F**K OFF, YOU DICK.
This was my relationship with loneliness for the last ten years. I self-prescribed a heavy dose of movement which dulls the serrated edges of my thoughts. I grab the bicycle, or lace up the running shoes, and GTFO. On a positive note, it inspired some of my most absurd—and poorly thought out—adventures.
Lately, our relationship has evolved. For years, I treated loneliness as an enemy, fighting it off with ceaseless activity. Frankly, I’m exhausted. During Alaska’s long winters, instead of running, I decided to try something new: to sit, read, and, for nearly the first time in my life, rest.
My first date in this new relationship with loneliness went something like this:
Friday: I”M EXHAUSTED. TRUCE? LET’S HAVE TEA???
Saturday: WAIT. NOPE.
Sunday: The 2023 Anchorage Runfest Marathon.
Monday: Ok, I’m pooped. Let’s Have TEA??
Aside from a rising PANIC, it felt counterintuitive, like watching a tidal wave approach, and leaning into the tide. The tightness sharpens and all the things I don’t want to think about bubble to the surface. I start to feel alone-ness. I fight the urge to clean the house, juggle, or watch TV. I brew tea. I listen. Slowly, the edges soften, and like a tight knot loosening when massaged, it eases.
Cue a few pages from a book, then a nap.
Cue lessons and revelations: Loneliness is not an adversary, but a caring friend, a protector. It builds community. Solitude, as with all things, is double-edged. It offers space to breathe and the chance to hear one’s own thoughts without distraction—clarity that’s often impossible in the noise of connection. But it can also isolate. When the disconnection grows too wide, loneliness emerges, an ache for belonging when the world feels distant and unreachable. Well the secret’s out. It’s not.
For now, I’ve come to see loneliness not as an enemy to flee or defeat, but as a presence to understand and heed. When I feel it’s fingers start to hug me tight, I revel in the solitude momentarily, take the hint, and find new ways to nourish my community and build new ones.
Ok. Tea?
-Colin | Pogo Mine, Alaska
Disclaimer: This piece was crafted with seemingly loving—but in fact, cold and calculating— guidance, support and minor polishing from my creative writing coach, Chat GPT-4.