The ache of being human

Lately, life has been too much for me. Snow after snow. Isolation due to covid. Aging. 

I’m surprised I’m even writing this blog post because that’s been thrown into the mix as well. I have no desire to write. At all.

And writing has always been my salvation, pulling me up from the deep — and drawing me out of the dark places.

But the hum-drum days of not meeting friends, not dining out, not going to movies or plays, of waking in the morning feeling as if I’m Bill Murray trapped in Groundhog Day (cue Sonny and Cher here) living the same 24 hours over and over, well, frankly, it has me worn out.

Doing nothing can do that. Not that I don’t “do” things. I do. But they are radically changed.

I don’t get to the gym so I walk daily. I can’t be with friends so we talk on the phone or text. I can’t go to the movies so I watch them on TV.

It’s not the same. 

An introvert by nature, you’d think it wouldn’t be a far leap to live in solitude like this. And in some ways, it isn’t.

But even those of us who are sensitive and introspective need human connection. A face-to-face voice. A hug. Shared laughter.

At times, writing has filled that need, my presence in the world. Although not seeing who was reading my words, it has been my way of reaching out to whisper, “I’m here. Are you?” Even that tenuous connection seems to have fled.

So what to do? I know the answers even though I don’t want to look at them. They are lifelong lessons for me.

Trust. Patience. Acceptance.

I’ve never been good at any of these qualities, taking three steps forward and two back. Like most of us, I’m always in process.

While I’d like to say “Phew, I learned those lessons and moving on now” — that isn’t going to happen. For any of us. The growth journey continues until we take last breath.

Truth be told, learning trust, patience and acceptance are all are part of the human process, and the ache of taking on flesh, of being human.

But I am also learning this. Appreciation. For life in the moment.

That some day — when covid is under control and I’m not so isolated — I will miss what I have now. The slowness of a morning and the snow falling in flat flakes.

The time to pray for others and our world, to reflect and be in touch with a Higher Power. Reading a good book or more, binging on TV shows. The suspension of the daily clock when I walk, nature cloaking me in soft compassion.

More than anything, life these days has given me the space for reflection, on what is important and what isn’t.

Yes, isolation has opened that door to ponder, but so has aging. As the body begins to diminish, it drops its pretenses and needs, and the spirit swells to get our attention.

Those materials things that once mattered in my younger days, just don’t any more.

What indeed does have growing meaning in me is basic and nothing new, words spoken by all the great spiritual teachers and prophets:

Love one another. Be of service. Bring peace and understanding to our small part of the world.

Maybe I can’t get out physically to help others, but I can pray. And I do. And when the time comes and life opens up again, I yearn to get out there and visit shut-ins or volunteer at a soup kitchen. We’ll see where life leads.

But for now, I pray for acceptance of what is, and appreciation that life is unfolding as it’s meant to, whether I like it or not.

May we all find hope in our shared humanity, in the ache of loneliness and isolation, knowing — ironically — that we are not alone.

We share this human journey together.