I have decided to start journaling about my struggles with loneliness. I want to track the ways that I experience it and create it. To look at what might be different when it’s not there. To describe how it feels in my body and, conversely, how I experience what is around me. I don’t want this to be “creative work”. I don’t want to edit or even write complete sentences.
I decided to do this now because the holidays are coming and all five (hey, that means I’m counting J now which feels sweet) of my friends will be away and I will have less work. In short, I can think of no better time.
I woke up today with a little pain in my chest: a light broken-heart with no object in mind. It’s like waking up with a sore throat: you’re not necessarily thinking of your spouse, mom or anyone specific when you have a sore throat, and so it was with this feeling in my chest.
I spilled my entire cup of coffee on my countertop. It was sort of enjoyable for some reason. Maybe because it broke up my routine.
I parked my car a few blocks from work and decided to touch the white flowers whose translucent petals often catch my attention. I tenderly rubbed a petal between my thumb and index finger. It was soft and smooth and mildly waxy. I kept walking and realized how much I enjoy the sunlight when it is gentle and mild. When it chooses to hold me instead of bear down on me.
As I approached the building I was disappointed to see work being done on the building. Well, not disappointed at the workers but at the noise.
I realize I have to stop writing. I promised myself I would do at least 10 minutes of meditation once per day. I will check in later.
Ps: I realize when I said “I will check in later” I felt like I was saying that to myself and that it felt kinda nice. I also enjoy looking back and seeing how boring and plain this all is. Somehow there is comfort in that.