As I waited for my mocha and peach scone at Rogue's Garden this afternoon, I chatted briefly with an acquaintance.
"How are you doing with both Thane and Rowan gone?" she asked.
"Oh, okay. A little lonely," I replied.
"Is that a good thing?'
Nonplussed, I shrugged and made a noncommittal sound. Is being lonely ever a good thing? Alone, yes, but lonely?
In the early, on-again-off-again years of our relationship, Thane and I spent a lot of time apart. Probably more time apart than together. When we decided to get back together again after one particularly bad break, I said that is was clear we needed to be in the same place. Thane promptly moved to Fairbanks and we rented a cabin together. A year later we got married. Our friends gave us six months.
We'll be celebrating our 19th anniversary in just over a month. I'd like to say that those years have been ones of blissful togetherness, but I really do try not to lie. The first few years we still spent at least five months apart when Thane was gone fishing all summer. I would sob like a baby every time he left in the spring. Our fourth summer married I even quit a job in August because I couldn't stand to be apart any longer.
Winters were months of constant togetherness. We enjoyed each other's company, but every year, sometime around March, I was asking him, "Isn't it time for you to go fishing?"
As my life evolved and my jobs changed, I found that I, too, was often busy all summer. I no longer cried when he left in the spring and I enjoyed my time alone. Some years we were apart even more than normal. The year we got pregnant with Rowan I counted all the individual days we'd spent together that year: 21. The situation had gotten ridiculous. After I was laid off from my job when Rowan was seven months old, we agreed that our family needed to be together. We sold our house in Wasilla and moved to Valdez. Now, although Thane's still gone a lot during the summer, he can at least come home when he's in port.
Through all these years, I've always cherished my alone time. I get a little antsy when I'm constantly in close proximity to others all of the time. I need to be alone to regroup and decompress, to find the quiet center of myself.
I've found, however, that how much time I want alone has changed over the years. In the past (after those first few years, anyway), I really didn't mind being alone all summer. I missed Thane, of course, but I was content with my own company and could keep myself happily occupied. In the good old days before the advent of cell phones, I knew I wouldn't hear from him so it didn't bother me not to, at least not too much.
My tolerance is different now. I still require and cherish hours alone, but only in small doses. After 10 years, I have grown accustomed to Rowan's contant companionship and to having no extended periods of time alone. While I get excited about the prospect of both of them being gone so that I can have the house to myself, I find that after a day or two I get lonely. The house is too big, too empty, too quiet. I start to wander listlessly, unable to motivate myself to do any of the many things I planned to accomplish.
Dictionary.com's definitions of lonely include, of course, the word alone, but I found the second definition to be most apropos: destitute of sympathetic or friendly companionship, intercourse, support, etc. It is the desire to have someone to interact with that leaves me feeling lonely when my small family is absent.
So, no, being lonely is not a good thing. I still cherish my time alone, but I do not like to be lonely. My family can come home now.
(No, they're not in Hawai'i; I couldn't find a picture of them on the boat.)
