I Don't Have Time to be Lonely

There's a kind of quiet loneliness that doesn't make noise.

Camping on BLM land

There’s a kind of quiet loneliness that doesn’t make noise. It doesn’t come crashing in like grief or fear, but slips in quietly, sits down beside you and stays.

Everyone gets lonely at one time or another. Even children get that feeling sometimes.

I used to think loneliness meant being alone. But that’s not it. I like myself—I even like to talk to myself out here, living alone in the Sonoran Desert. Well, I’m not actually alone—my Tibetan Terrier—Thumper is always by my side. He keeps me busy while taking care of his needs, and he knows how to be still and quiet while I’m working on my novel “Smitty”.

Inside the van, everything is close at hand. Less is more, and everything removed has to be placed back in its place, otherwise, it becomes chaotic, and I can’t find anything when I need it.

My bed is a few inches from where I sit. My belongings are stacked, folded, tucked into corners. There’s no space for clutter, no room for excess.

But somehow, inside something so small, there’s a space that feels endless. That’s the part I didn’t expect.

The physical space shrinks, but the emotional space—expands. And in this space, deep thoughts come.

I think about the life I’ve had. I think about my Louisiana and Mississippi family that I was born into, and I thank God every day for them.

Stability has a sound to it. You don’t notice it when you have it. But you notice the silence when it’s gone.

Out here, everything becomes intentional.

Nothing just happens. And that includes connections.

There are people, of course.

You see them. You pass them. Sometimes you exchange a few words. A glance. A nod. Occasionally kindness shows up in ways you don’t expect, and it stays with you longer than it probably would have before.

But it’s not the same. It’s moments. And moments, no matter how meaningful, don’t always fill the space.

But I find my community on Substack brings me joy, and I don’t feel so alone. Plus, I love people and I reach out, and I like my alone time with just my pet. Solitude is mandatory for me at times.

Balance is the key to a good life.

Something steady. Something that doesn’t disappear, even when everything else feels like it has.

Maybe it’s resilience. Maybe it’s habit. Maybe it’s something deeper that I don’t fully understand yet.

But it’s there.

And I’m still here. In the quiet. In the space. In the life I didn’t plan, but I’m living, anyway. I have no regrets.

Even in loneliness. There’s something holding me in place. Not fixing it. Not filling it. But keeping me here.

Thanks for reading.

Kindly,

Carol