You don’t talk a lot about the loneliness before you leave.
Everyone assumes it will be there, but you try to let it rest somewhere in the back of your mind, focusing instead on the exciting things, the big picture and the little details, everything else.
The loneliness is inescapable. It’s just a fact. Part of relocating to a new place, particularly a new place where you can’t speak with most of the people on the street or share in their daily lives.
You don’t think about the love-hate relationship you’ll develop with your social media feeds, seeing your friends do the same fun things in the same fun places without you. How you’ll want to see them and stay connected, but when you do it will tear you apart a little more because you’re not part of that world any longer.
I can’t say I didn’t know I was losing something when I left. Almost a year ago I remember crying on the worn parquet floor because I knew it was all slipping from my grasp and I couldn’t stop it. I knew it would be hard, but I think it’s human nature to hope it won’t be quite as hard as you think it will be.
It is. The loneliness is something intense and real that will only disappear with time and new bonds. Homesickness sets in with its awful paradox: if I left today, I would miss my new home here almost as much.
A lot of it spins out of my selfishness. It’s hard to watch everyone I left behind and know that while I might be missed, I am not needed. They eat meals at the table where I ate and gather in the rooms where I gathered. They take trips and dream about the future, and I am not there.
Instead I go about the slow work of building new memories and new relationships. As I wait for time to have its effect, I remember that the Lord is close to the brokenhearted, and He can see me here.
It’s a privilege to be here, and it’s a privilege to be so well-loved by so many people who live an ocean away. If only privilege and pain were antithetical.
I don’t think I have an all-encompassing point here. If you’re reading this there’s a good chance you’re one of those people who lives an ocean away. Know I love you and miss you, and I am so happy your life keeps going without me. Keeping the world running for everyone is a responsibility I’m not foolish enough to ask for.
It’s true that because I love you it hurts to be away, but instead of allowing that pain to drive me away from your arms I will run to the arms of God. Maybe someday I will come back and share those meals with you again. Maybe I won’t. When this homesickness rears its head, I will remember it is a consequence of a good life filled with good love.
That’s worth hurting over to me.
I didn’t know how much I could still laugh. I forget what language I’m speaking – we switch back and forth so much, they just start to blend together. Somehow I still understand what’s being said, and I still manage to express what I want to.
I’m so used to fending for myself, it’s a relief to have someone step in and explain things better. I am relaxed – someone else who knows what’s supposed to happen is taking care of things, and I can just have fun.
I make mistakes. It’s funny when I say “no problem” and I should be saying “thank you.” I learn knew things. I ask questions. I talk about who I am.
Friendships are starting. Lovely, wonderful, beautiful people who are willing to take a risk and reach out are becoming part of my world. They are already inviting me to be part of their lives, making plans for events that are months away.
This morning I sat on my bed and cried and wrote about loneliness. This afternoon I was part of a crew for the first time in ages. I traded phone numbers. I got a ride home.
Day by day things are opening up. God is faithful. He has not left me, and He has not left me alone.
I feel you, love, I really do.
Bethany, I know exactly how you feel. When I was young and in the Navy I went on two 9 month cruises. It’s very hard leaving those you love. But I grew through the experience and it made me lean on Jesus to get me through the days. You are growing in Grace. Best, David