dipping my toes in the water of solitude

I have been lonely often in my life. Lonely washing dishes at the kitchen sink when my partner was 10 feet away on the couch pretending the mess didn't exist. Lonely sitting at the table for yet another holiday meal with family members who weren't sure what to ask a women's and gender studies major and christian theology minor queer. Lonely with music playing, while sewing and watching a show at the same time. I'm fine, I would tell myself, while clearly not being fine, while also refusing to explore all the reasons I might not be fine.

I have been alone often too - and not feeling lonely. Alone at sunset in Narrow Lake, hoping the beaver would swim past me again. Alone, crying with awe in the Cathedral of St Joseph. Alone at the airport after moving 12,000kms to a place I'd never been. Time alone has been a gift, a source of joy and finding myself again. Being alone on purpose was what let me dip my toes in the water of solitude. Moving from lonely to 'alone' was only possible through something: deciding to sit in the sanctuary even though I felt awkward or deciding to put on my hiking shoes and go. Solitude needed a task to feel bearable at first. Now, solitude is the task.

I still feel lonely sometimes and when I do, I check if the person I am missing is actually me. Usually the answer is yes. So I pop on my shoes and head out the door, knowing solitude will greet me and quell the lonely feeling.