On Loneliness and Being Alone

I’ve never been bothered by being alone. I enjoy working by myself. I enjoy recreating by myself. I don’t think I’m antisocial; I simply appreciate solitude. A friend recently coined the term “omnivert,” and I think that describes me. I oscillate between recharging my batteries by being around people, and recharging them by seeking solitude.

But lately, solitude has felt more like isolation. Being alone feels lonely at the moment. I know that part of my loneliness stems from being in a new community, but I often felt lonely in Auburn after Sami’s passing. My loneliness, I think, comes from a lack of companionship.

Fortunately, I am blessed with amazing friends - friends near and far who have been incredibly supportive through the last 24 months. Friends who have somehow intuited that I needed to hear from them - who have texted, called, or emailed out of the blue. Who continue to simply check in. I am so grateful for this.

In the rangeland and livestock world, wintertime is convention time. Since early December, I’ve traveled to Reno for the California Cattlemen’s Association convention; to Scottsdale, AZ, for the American Sheep Industry Association conference; and to Spokane, WA, for the Society for Range Management conference. In my 35 years of professional life, I’ve been fortunate to make wonderful friends in each of these organizations - friends from all over the world! These conferences provided a much needed chance to reconnect in person - to see old friends and make new ones.

In person. Face-to-face conversations. Handshakes and hugs. Time together. Now that conference season is wrapping up, I’m realizing that these in-person connections are incredibly important to me. In the words of songwriter James McMurtry, they provide “the warmth of a smile and a touch.” Things that can’t be conveyed through a text or a phone call. Companionship.

Someone asked me recently if I dated. I was startled by the question, and answered awkwardly. I realized that I haven’t thought about that question for 37 years. And I don’t know the answer, at least not yet. I do know that being in someone’s company, of having meaningful conversations and sharing a laugh and a meal, is something I miss - something I’d like to have more of in my life at this stage. I don’t know if that’s what dating is, I guess.

I seem to be in an odd place age and experience-wise, too. I work in a field and in an organization where, at nearly 58 years old, I’m past the average age of my colleagues. Some days, I feel old. Other days, I feel like my experience (professional and personal) are valuable. But in all of this, I also am starkly aware of not wanting to be the creepy old guy in the room. I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.

Underlying all of this, I’m realizing this morning, is a sense of regret that Sami and I never talked about what we’d want for each other once one of us was gone. Once we both knew that she had months rather than years to live, I think her hopelessness and grief prevented us from having these conversations. This realization has changed me. I find that I don’t shy away from hard or awkward conversations like I once did. These discussions are still difficult for me, but I find that I feel like I need to have them. That I shouldn’t wait. I suspect that can make others uncomfortable at times, and that my attempts at seeking these kinds of relationships will be clumsy and awkward, as a result. In some respects, I feel like I’m still an uncomfortable teenager, at least between my ears.

Finally, I hope that most of you know by now that writing (and sharing what I write) is my therapy. The act of putting words on “paper” and sending them out into the world helps me understand my thoughts and feelings. Sometimes I worry that my writing will be misconstrued as a cry for help - and this particular essay seems especially at risk for this. Please know that it is not - I’m doing alright. I’m simply trying to figure out where I am in my particular journey. Thank you for understanding.