A Beginner’s Guide to Surviving Loneliness

The day is just beginning to light up in this remote place. Everything is snow-piled with far-flung hills blending into the white-edged sky so you can barely tell where the mountains end and the sky begins. Who knew gray and white could be so beautiful?

I step onto the porch of this sturdy log cabin, stocking-footed and hugging my steaming mug of cinnamon tea. I want to hear the quiet, but a duck squawks in the pond and I make out two or three distinct bird songs–even with the freezing temperature, those crazy birds still sang. And I hear a small stream gurgling near the gate, the wind gently tapping the pipe against the dinner triangle and adding more music to the air.

This remote and beautiful location has reminded me of a few thoughts that helped when I was first widowed, which also pertain to being left by a man who promised to love and cherish you all the days of your life.

Cultivate independence

I broke my wrist the second day here, followed by surgery and an amount of hardware that will set off security machines.

It’s been good for me to see that I can still function independently, even with one arm full strength and one not-so-full-strength, doing a few of those jobs—like bringing in firewood and emptying ash buckets—that would fall to a husband, were a husband nearby.

Whether we’re alone in life through divorce or widowhood, it can be frightening to consider all that needs to now be done on our own. But as we say Yes to opportunities that require a bit of independence, we then grow braver, tougher, more resilient.

Appreciate interdependence

One of my nephews, who likes to plan ahead, came up to plow the deepening snow off the narrow, graveled road to the cabin — in case of an emergency since most ambulances don’t have four-wheel drive.

Because my wrist was in a splint, he also insisted on hauling loads of firewood to the back porch with the tractor (but I wanted to run the tractor!). I had to practically arm wrestle him to let me help stack it.

We can need people and not be needy. Connect with your people. Often.

Allow yourself do-overs

My reason for accepting this generous invitation of six weeks in a gorgeous log cabin was to complete the re-write of a book. This is now my third re-write. And what a gift — to have people who believe enough in your project to offer constructive criticism that requires a major re-working.

I take comfort from these words by Phyllis Whitney: “A good book isn’t written, it’s rewritten.”

If you’re still working on something you haven’t quite gotten right, no worries. Be patient with yourself. Allow yourself do-overs.

Embrace nature

Every day I walk the Jeep track — the first weeks in snowshoes, but now in hiking boots on the packed snow. In a place like this, the quiet gently roars at you, and the whiteness causes you to wonder how it can transform even the homeliest of things into beauty.

Even if your outdoor place is a front porch swing, a park bench, or a large boulder perched above a flowing river, get out into God’s great wonderland and marvel at His bigness, His creativity, His genius. And know that you are not really alone.

Don’t forget to refuel

I’ve always thought of myself as an extrovert because I’m outgoing and I like people. But my son-in-law, Josh, set me straight when he asked: “How do you refuel? Do you recharge best around people, or alone?” Oooh, hadn’t thought of it that way.

In order for me to be any good around people (good, as in, playing nice), I need time alone. Time to journal, and time to pray, and time to read and reflect.

Figure out the best way you refuel, and then do it. As frequently as possible. Because being refueled and refreshed helps keep our thoughts from going to self-pitiful places over our aloneness in life.

A final thought…

Based on where I am at this moment, on an acreage that’s exponentially more inhabited by wild animals than humans, this insight is important:

There is a difference between loneliness and solitude; one will empty you and one will fill you. You have the power to choose.

I made my choice: I’m being filled at the moment. Filled to overflowing.