I float relatively unencumbered in this life, steadily attached to only the two people I helped to create. I wonder sometimes if I should feel lonely, in the same way someone with an all-yellow garden might wonder if they should plant something wild and red.
I harbor sentiment for distant friends and strangers almost unwittingly, and don’t realize its depth until I open a letter, see a mother kiss her newborn child’s head, or stand in the boisterous crowd of someone else’s family. I’m always surprised at how ready the lump in my throat is, as well as the laughter. I am often inexplicably touched by someone else’s life stories, anecdotes, photographs, poems, music, or thoughts. The tears or the joy rise impulsively, out of some unmapped, visceral place.
Excited teenage girls out shopping for a prom dress can evoke the same tender feelings in me me as two outcast middle-schoolers in deep conversation at a coffee shop. An elderly couple holding hands can rouse my sentiment as much as a pair of five year-olds standing at a bus stop. I feel downright gleeful when I see any display of love, whether it’s a mother bending over a stroller, or a couple who can’t stop kissing in the back row of a theater.
Yet I am alone, and in so many ways I’m grateful for solitude, and for being able to embrace my nature, which needs the retreat of waves more often than it needs the solidity of an anchor. Then again, perhaps my anchor is something I’ve always carried with me rather than let sink, and one day I’ll find myself wanting to ease it down into peaceful waters.
{ 19 comments }
I kind of wonder if we are the “anchor” in our own lives?
I am a happy crier which I’m sure is confusing the crap out of my kid. Tears are always waiting for something that moves me. Explaining that to a two and a half year old has been kind of challenging but I’m sure she’ll get it eventually. I used to HATE that I cried at the drop of a hat. It was embarrassing and it left me feeling vulnerable, but as I’ve gotten older and have begun to care a little less about what I fear people may think, I’ve found that tears are really just one of my physical ways of showing that I have been touched.
So perhaps maybe the way I “anchor” myself to others is by allowing my emotions to be free and expressed.
Thank you for giving me something to think about Jane.
My anchors are the only thing keeping me grounded. I give thanks every day. You know who they are …
D~
How beautiful. It’s frustrating when observing humanity moves us so forcefully, but entering the experience firsthand leaves us feeling disabled.
You’ve said so much here. I love it.
Perfect. I will remember this for a long while.
I am right there with you, except I don’t really have anchors. The freedom is heady and often lonely; so of necessity, I derive stimulus from others, Rather like a kindly old vampire.
I like this piece and I relate to it very much.
I have a big family, 5 children + a husband, and a close extended family. They all help anchor me. Yet I crave solitude and am lucky enough to enjoy a fair bit of it. I think it is the solitude that really anchors me. Without large amounts of it, I am overwhelmed.
Chris, I think you summed it up brilliantly in one sentence. That’s exactly it.
Julia, yes, emotions are an anchor. I think the ability to feel strongly is why many alone people never really feel lonely. They are connected to people by feeling rather than physicality.
Donna, I do know, and one of my favorite things about you is how much you all appreciate each other.
Doris, there is a headiness to being unattached. Somehow, though, it’s a little less heady in the winter season, with its many holidays.
Suzanne, that’s the kind of family I often find myself in the center of as an invited single, and it always moves me to see so many people — because to me that size of family is huge — who are close.
you are NOT alone, Jane. i think Pearl Buck said it best:
The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: A human creature
born abnormally, inhumanly sensitive. To him… a touch is a blow, a sound
is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a
lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate
organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create — so that
without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something
of meaning, his very breath is cut off from him. He must create, must pour
out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency he is not really
alive unless he is creating.
-Pearl S. Buck, novelist, Nobel laureate
(1892-1973)
That’s beautiful Kris!
Having followed you for about 2 yrs. now, I know this about you. You have very sharp instincts and survival skills. So if you’re carrying that anchor, I think there’s a good reason for it, maybe one that’s half-nature and half-experience. I think when you do settle that anchor down, it won’t be because you settled but because you didn’t!
( On the fic. story, I was half-agreeing with Suzanne and half with Doris. I liked the meaning of the story, but didn’t feel much for the baker person).
I second LBJ’s comment and add Answer your damn email! LOL. J/K. I know you’re busy.
So poetic.
Yesterday, I fell in love with the family feeding birds in the park.
I will third LBJ’s comments (if “third” can be used!)…and, I also shed tears for people I don’t know. I think it is about connection or wanting connection….
Today I couldn’t stop smiling watching Obama’s youngest daughter dancing – in her own joyful childhood world. How fun to have the opportunity to observe – I wanted to join her!
Kris, I loved Pearl. I followed her career and her novels for years.
LBJ, I think experience does play a part for sure.
Mary, yes! That’s exactly how it happens.
Jeanne, it’s definitely about connection and knowing you’re in the realm.
Anne, I missed that! She’s a cutie, and Malia is a stunner like her mom.
Because I feel things so strongly and share others’ emotions easily, I need to be alone for big chunks of time.
My loneliest moments aren’t when I’m physically by myself, but when I’m in the presence of a lot of people and don’t feel an emotional connection.
My aunt was my anchor and still is though she has been dead four years. She visits me from time to time in dreams like the one I posted about some time ago. She and my uncle had two boys. When my cousins were small, fifty years ago, a little boy who lived down by the river used to come up and play. Often he stayed all day and shared pbj’s with my cousins at lunch. Then they grew up and my cousins had careers but they all shared a passion for racing cars. Any old car they could get, they made into a racing car. They called their friend “Red Rod” because of an old red heep he made into a hot rod and drove all over town. Red Rod dropped out of school, he had a hard time learning but he knew his cars. My aunt and uncle had a shop on their property where the men worked on cars for extra income and also built the race cars. During the day when everyone was at work Red Rod worked in the garage sweeping and organizing and changing oil for customers who dropped by. It was his only source of income. On weekends they all loaded up the cars in car haulers and took off for the track. Red Rod helped load and unload and helped keep the cars running. This went on for years. My cousins married and had families but Red Rod lived in a little rented trailer and continued to work out in the shop and they all continued to race. He became one of those Southern cousins. A person who is so close to a family that they become a member. Even after my uncle and aunt retired, the racing went on. My uncle said many times “I’mo build me one mo’ car” and he would start from scratch again with Red Rod’s help.
My uncle called me last week and said they were all “all broke up” because Red Rod had a heart attack and died in his sleep. He didn’t have any insurance so my uncle and cousins paid to have him cremated and sprinkled his ashes out near the shop.
That night I dreamed my aunt drove up in a snowy white ’64 Mustang. She was pulling two car haulers and a little red wagon behind. She was shaking her head but smiling, and was wearing the white sun dress she always wears in my dreams. “you have no idea how far I had to drive to get here with this stuff” and she waved her arm toward the haulers she was towing. I looked in the direction where she waved and far off there were beautiful green pastures with bushes of bridal wreath in bloom. I like to believe in the spirit world, and I like to think Aunt Mary came to get Red Rod.
Ann – Of course she did … she came to get him.
Thank-you for sharing, it really touched me. How lucky you are to have such an Aunt.
I’m sorry for your loss.
V – I’m nodding my head. I think we’re related.
Ann, that was a beautiful story, and had that Southern feel that I’ve always found so touching. Thank you for sharing it here.
I love the way you make me think, Jane. I’ve reread this several times to clarify my thoughts.
I am my own anchor. I feel connected to others almost all the time and must , at times, exert effort to disconnect and protect. As I age, this connection and protection, this active living, is much healthier and contented. I do love that facet of aging.
Like V, I recharge in solitude; and I feel ragged and scattered when I’ve not allowed myself that time.
On a final note, I love the community you’ve created here. I read and listen a lot, commenting only occasionally. But all of you spark thoughts and ideas and make me happy.
Thank you!
Not that I’m biased or anything, but I do think the women (an occasional man) that come here are the best. I enjoy comments, but I also enjoy when stories and experiences are shared. I feel like I’ve learned a lot from those who post here.
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