Is anybody out there?

A specific kind of loneliness

Welcome to another installment of The Bittersweet, where I share my search for a richer perspective on the Bittersweet moments that make up modern life.

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A friend I knew in high school posted a meme about never getting over the loss of a parent. I’ve lost both my parents, so obviously, I could relate. I typed out a long response (it was probably closer to 2-3 sentences), but then I got all tangled up in my head about how I might relate the meme to the loss of my father, who died when I was four, and the loss of my mother who died when I was 18. Then I wondered if my friend even knew both of my parents were dead, and I worried if she didn’t, then she might be stuck in the awkward position of comforting me when I was trying to comfort her, and I hate when that happens so I just deleted the whole thing and wrote, “sending you love.”

I do this all the time.

It doesn’t matter if the post is a trip to the pumpkin patch or politics. I see something. I have a reaction. I want to respond, but because it feels too personal, I don’t want to cause a fight, or I’m just too exhausted, I do nothing. It makes me want to delete Facebook at least twice a week.

I stay because I want to know how my friend is coping with the loss of her father. I want to know about my other friend and her battle with cancer. I want to see what my other friend is reading because she’s always reading the best books.

But I also feel kind of fake, like these are contrived and curated relationships, but life is busy… is more even an option?

When I post about politics, I almost always regret it. I know I’m spitting into the wind but can’t help myself. This age of Trump is a firehose of bad news, and I need to process this world that feels so upside down. It's not that Facebook is a bastion of nuance, but I have the illusion that I’m doing something.

Maybe this is a specific kind of loneliness? Maybe what I crave is hard conversations. Something tangible to bounce off my echo chamber?

In my twenties, I briefly flirted with the idea of going to graduate school and becoming a professor of literature until I realized what I really wanted was to read good books and talk about them with smart people, and that’s not really what professors do.

These days, I listen to A LOT of podcasts, and one of my prevailing feelings is jealousy. These people get to have deep conversations all the time. I feel like I'm bursting with stilted half-conversations but no one to talk to. (Nick can only handle so much.)

The other day, I posted, “Sometimes, I wonder if the old adage, ‘never discuss religion or politics,’ was our first step toward the hyper-division we face now. Do you think if we argued more, we would fight less?”

I got some really interesting responses from people I wasn’t expecting to hear from.

Maybe if we had more conversations with people where we kind of agree and kind of disagree, we wouldn’t be so scared. Maybe it wouldn't be so easy to label our fellow citizens as baby killers, Natzis, radical, or evil. Perhaps the antidote to this kind of loneliness is to resist the inclination to delete.

This is where I am today. Thank you for listening.

Emily

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