, I have had a new perspective on loneliness. For me, the comfort of a lifelong partner with whom I could share space without necessarily having to expend a lot of energy provided the perfect balance of company and solitude.
But there’s a big difference between spending time with friends and spending time with my husband of 30 years, with whom conversations all started in the middle, with whom I shared a secret language of jokes and references, and with whom I could be comfortably silent when we ran out of things to say. Time with other people requires much more of me—with friends, I must be “on.”
, and my relationship with it has grown ever more profound. Texting requires little of my friends and me—I don’t take offense if I don’t hear back immediately, and I trust they extend me the same grace—while also providing an invisible thread of connection. The chime of an incoming text tells me that I am not alone, that I am in someone’s thoughts. This is reassuring, and it takes the edge off loneliness.
I have also realized that the effort of doing with friends—meeting for drinks, meals, museums or shows, or any of the things we do when we do things—contributes to. But I have a friend who also works at home with whom I have developed a lovely tradition of “lazy-ass afternoons.” On those days, she’ll come here with her laptop; we’ll work for a few hours, perhaps break for lunch, and then knock off early, mix up some cocktails, and veg in front of the TV.
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