"If we're set on creating change, on doing things differently, we must be prepared for loneliness." – Margaret Wheatley.
Photography is the art I have practiced the longest. Recently, I've noticed that more and more of the images I make, including the one at left, suggest loneliness.
Why is loneliness so painful for so many of us? Why does the very word suggest sadness instead of a place where wisdom and comfort may lie? What wisdom might arrive if we chose to accept this inevitable condition instead of trying to shrug it off.
I wrote a note about this issue to a new, Canadian acquaintance who heard me speak recently in Milwaukee. Her name is Olivia McIvor and she also travels the country talking with caregivers. Her expertise is the power of kindness.
Ms. McIvor (whose work I recommend) sent me the lovely quote, above, from Ms. Wheatley. The quote continues on for a paragraph. Wheatley's words produced such an effect on me that I pass along more of them to you:
"We will always be the minority, and we will always feel invisible and lonely. Or at least we feel this way at first. As our work deepens and we find the few others to accompany us…we grow wiser about how the world works."
Do those of us who let our thoughts soar beyond the everyday way of doing things ever feel like we can find "a few others to accompany us," …or even one? Do we have the courage to continue when we truly feel invisible?
Wheatley writes, "Loneliness eventually transforms into a willingness to be alone, even a desire for the space and peace available when nobody else is there." (italics added)
One of the definitions of extroversion is that extroverts draw their energy from continuous and frequent interactions with groups. For many extroverts, the idea that extended loneliness might be something desirable may seem novel.
No longer confined to the flourescent-lit hospitals and high-ceilinged courtrooms that have dominated my life for four decades, I am learning a different way of living. More and more of my days are filled with travels through dense woods and swims in remote lakes. My many years indoors have made these travels feel like journeys into the unknown.
Of course, I've always known the woods were there. But, now I find myself lying down in the leaves free of the pressure to run back to some important appointment with civilization. In these times, I touch the hem of the wisdom that thrives in this kind of quiet.
Of course, you, and every caregiver (like all humanity) experience isolation – sometimes when right in the middle of a crowd. Companionship may drive that feeling of loneliness away for awhile. But sometimes, it can weigh us down.
It is through our journey within that we discover a new strength and a deeper wisdom. What has to change, in our thinking, in order for us to see our lonely times as rich instead of sad? Again, Wheatley ofters a path for us to take: "…to get to this lovely place, we first have to let loneliness be there, wait for it to pass through, and then notice that it's gone, and that we quite like the space we're in."
Can we let "loneliness be there" for awhile - so long that we allow it to "pass through?" Will we find, in its place, a greater gift of Love?
Society requires that we schedule appointments. Nature makes no such demands. What if you scheduled more time for yourself with yourself…just yourself?
-Reverend Erie Chapman
Journal of Sacred Work 
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