loneliness and open hands.

27 can be a lonely year. Actually, I think it's safe to say that any year of your life can be lonely--whether married or single, in community or by yourself. We are all prone to the feeling that there is no one there to hold our hand. No one to walk with us through dark spaces, no one to cheer us on.

And sometimes, this is true.

I've known people in committed relationships who often feel misunderstood and unheard, and I know people who are alone who feel connected to others no matter what.

But for me, this year, I feel lonely.

It's not to say that I don't have a faithful family of supporters. I can say with no doubt that I am loved, that I am known, and that at any time there are a handful of people who would drop everything to be with me. There are moments in my week where I am so full of joy I could burst, so full of hope that I can't help but dish it out as often as I open my mouth to speak.

And yet, the loneliness is still there, lingering.

Fullness and meaning, emptiness and grief.

It seems this life we live is intertwined between two ends of the spectrum, that no matter how much love we can hold there is always the possibility of brokenness.

For a person who walks in extremes, this is highly uncomfortable. I want to hold on so tightly to the good or wallow miserably in the bad--I cannot tolerate this middle ground. I can celebrate in the season of plenty, and cry with the best of them in pit of despair, but at least tell me when they are going to happen.

Give me some time to prepare.

I think this is why loneliness sneaks up on us. We can be surrounded by those we love and whom love us, and still fear the day they will be taken away.

In the same turn, we can be all by ourselves, safe from the possibility of a broken heart, and still yearn for the feel of a family.

None of us are free from this longing, this ache of the soul.

So then, what is there to do?

The way I see it, we really only have one option.

To embrace it.

All of it.

The hard things and the beautiful things and the icky things and the pure things and the things that drive us absolutely crazy.

They are apart of life.

Apart of us.

I guess then the thing is acceptance.

Will we choose to embrace what has been set before us?

Or will we lay down and die?

I can tell you from experience that wallowing in misery is OK for a time but extremely redundant.

I can also tell you that the more you avoid the thing the bigger the thing becomes.

So face it.

Let me tell you something--it's quite alright to be lonely.

It's more than fine to be frustrated with the path before you.

It's absolutely within your right to grieve and yearn for and fight what has been discouragingly sitting at your front door.

Do all of these things.

Give yourself the time to feel it, to name it, to recognize its existence.

Then move the hell on with your life.

Because here's the thing--there will always be seasons of despair and prosperity, pain and healing--

loneliness and hope.

We have to live with open hands.

No matter what gets placed in them.

We don't always get to choose.

And yet.

Every day is still a gift.

There are still so many things to choose. 

We don't get to pick up some and leave the rest behind.

It's all jumbled together.

And that--that is the paradox of living.

That it is possible, in so many ways, to feel incandescently alive and painfully aware of loss all in the same breath.

This is called being human.

We mustn't lose it.

The thing that makes us love and hurt with others.

The thing that connects us.

I have found, that the more you know, the more you know.

And that it is much better to know a whole lot than know very little.

Much better to live with open hands and a tender heart,

then to lock yourself away in  your loneliness.

So take it all in.

Let it all out.

A closed hand isn't much use to anyone.

But an open hand?

Well an open hand is much easier to hold in my experience.