i write to breathe.

cityography:

A death in my aunt’s family prevented me from celebrating Thanksgiving with my Chicago relatives this year, and so I was alone today. Add this tiny pinch of disappointment to the well of lonesomeness I felt last Christmas, which I also spent by myself in this apartment, and you might understand why I felt the need, promptly upon waking up, to clean the place in its entirety and bake pumpkin pie and blast music as loudly as I possibly could.
None of us are young enough anymore to misunderstand the purpose of a holiday, its promise of closeness and the involuntary (or voluntary) forgetfulness of past offenses or differences. In the end, though, spending a holiday alone is no different than spending any other day alone: it’s a choice you make at your own expense, sometimes, and at the expense of someone else who might desperately need you.
I’m a loner and, by choice and often by sheer need, spend a lot of time inside my own head, occupied with my own devices. I used to be very ashamed of this part of myself, thought it contradicted some great portion of humanity and thus made me into less of a human. It doesn’t. It’s a perfectly natural state for a lot of people. But it also begs the question, how can I still give of myself to others? How can I be available?
Part of me wishes I had been brave enough today to find some way to give myself to others, even if it wasn’t with my family. Mostly, though, I’m thankful that I had the chance to “redeem” what happened last Christmas: that aching loneliness that I told myself I would never be able to go through again. The truth is, I can go through it, and sometimes I must.
I think that loneliness is one of mankind’s greatest dilemmas. It’s always present. Maybe you were lonely today, even surrounded by loved ones. Contrary to popular belief, it’s not something you can cure just by surrounding yourself with people. It involves a little bit more soul than that, the recognition that we’re all in this together, we can be lonely together.
So we’re not alone, you see. That makes me incredibly thankful.

Something to resonate with during this season. A comforting read and one that keeps me hopeful for better days to come this Christmas.

A death in my aunt’s family prevented me from celebrating Thanksgiving with my Chicago relatives this year, and so I was alone today. Add this tiny pinch of disappointment to the well of lonesomeness I felt last Christmas, which I also spent by myself in this apartment, and you might understand why I felt the need, promptly upon waking up, to clean the place in its entirety and bake pumpkin pie and blast music as loudly as I possibly could.

None of us are young enough anymore to misunderstand the purpose of a holiday, its promise of closeness and the involuntary (or voluntary) forgetfulness of past offenses or differences. In the end, though, spending a holiday alone is no different than spending any other day alone: it’s a choice you make at your own expense, sometimes, and at the expense of someone else who might desperately need you.

I’m a loner and, by choice and often by sheer need, spend a lot of time inside my own head, occupied with my own devices. I used to be very ashamed of this part of myself, thought it contradicted some great portion of humanity and thus made me into less of a human. It doesn’t. It’s a perfectly natural state for a lot of people. But it also begs the question, how can I still give of myself to others? How can I be available?

Part of me wishes I had been brave enough today to find some way to give myself to others, even if it wasn’t with my family. Mostly, though, I’m thankful that I had the chance to “redeem” what happened last Christmas: that aching loneliness that I told myself I would never be able to go through again. The truth is, I can go through it, and sometimes I must.

I think that loneliness is one of mankind’s greatest dilemmas. It’s always present. Maybe you were lonely today, even surrounded by loved ones. Contrary to popular belief, it’s not something you can cure just by surrounding yourself with people. It involves a little bit more soul than that, the recognition that we’re all in this together, we can be lonely together.

So we’re not alone, you see. That makes me incredibly thankful.

Something to resonate with during this season. A comforting read and one that keeps me hopeful for better days to come this Christmas.

Source: cityography