Between the Dark and the Daylight: Encountering and Embracing the Contradictions of Life by Osb Joan Chittister, Joan Sister Chittister
Authors: Osb Joan Chittister, Joan Sister Chittister
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situation like this, so was I suffering from loneliness or self-pity?
Clearly, getting through this was up to me.
I knew that I had to have a plan. So, I made a list of things I had wanted to do for years but was never in the right situation to try. In any other circumstances, I would never even have had the time to pursue them: study all of Shakespeare’s plays, for instance, read all the American musicals, learn to carve leather. But here and now, once my lessons were prepared, I could suddenly be totally immersed in a life that was educational, artistic, even relaxing. It became a time of my life that I have always looked back on with real satisfaction and even a bit of nostalgia.
As a result of that situation, however, I discovered something that has proven invaluable over the years. In order for loneliness—as real as it is—to deplete us, we must feed it.
Loneliness is the perfect setup for self-pity. No one comes to see me; pity me. No one asks how I’m doing; pity me. No one invites me out; pity me. But that’s only the beginning of the problem. Not only do others not see the problem or do anything to address it, but I don’t do anything for me either.
We simply withdraw within ourselves to confirm our misery. Withdrawal itself becomes our only response to an already barren environment. Now there is nothing but emptiness outside and emptiness of our own making inside, as well. There is nowhere to go but further down, both psychologically and spiritually.
But loneliness is another kind of call to go on growing in ways that take us beyond dependency on others to the creation of life’s most important resources within ourselves.
Loneliness is a sign that there are whole parts of us that cry out for development. After all, we are meant to be more than our social lives. We are meant to have inner lives that are themselves rich and satisfying. It is a matter of learning how to become good company for ourselves. We are not meant to lie awake at night wondering if someone, anyone, will come to our rescue. We are meant to be our own best friends.
And at that point, I am the only one who can rescue me. The others can accompany me. They can look out for me. They can offer me their support and understanding and care. But if there is something missing in my life, I’m the only one who really knows what it is. I am the only one who can put it there.
Every life deals with loneliness at some point or other: Our partner dies; sickness sets in that makes the old social calendar impossible; we find ourselves in a new job, a new town, a new country, a new world. More than one person who was once naturally outgoing and apparently self-confident has succumbed to all of those things. The problem is that the more we withdraw, the more withdrawn we become. People stop calling. No one stops by. I never meet anyone new. I never do meaningful new things. But then is not the time to hide from the world; then is the time to strike out in totally new ways to find the rest of the self in the rest of the world.
It is the opportunity we do not seek, to do things wenever thought of doing, and in the end it is an invitation to become new again.
This is the moment the old frame cracks, the old certainties fail, the old patterns and habits and social clubs disappear. The tried-and-true are not only useless now, they are simply gone. The only possibility for emotional survival lies at a time like this in going out into a totally strange place, trusting ourself to new people. Not to burden them but to learn from them. It means that we must do something we have never done before—join a book club or a quilting group or deliver trays for Meals on Wheels—anything that provides structure and regularity until, suddenly, we have a new circle of friends to help us plan our own time differently.
But loneliness is about more than simply figuring out how to use time while we try to forget the pain that comes when we’re at loose ends. It is
Clearly, getting through this was up to me.
I knew that I had to have a plan. So, I made a list of things I had wanted to do for years but was never in the right situation to try. In any other circumstances, I would never even have had the time to pursue them: study all of Shakespeare’s plays, for instance, read all the American musicals, learn to carve leather. But here and now, once my lessons were prepared, I could suddenly be totally immersed in a life that was educational, artistic, even relaxing. It became a time of my life that I have always looked back on with real satisfaction and even a bit of nostalgia.
As a result of that situation, however, I discovered something that has proven invaluable over the years. In order for loneliness—as real as it is—to deplete us, we must feed it.
Loneliness is the perfect setup for self-pity. No one comes to see me; pity me. No one asks how I’m doing; pity me. No one invites me out; pity me. But that’s only the beginning of the problem. Not only do others not see the problem or do anything to address it, but I don’t do anything for me either.
We simply withdraw within ourselves to confirm our misery. Withdrawal itself becomes our only response to an already barren environment. Now there is nothing but emptiness outside and emptiness of our own making inside, as well. There is nowhere to go but further down, both psychologically and spiritually.
But loneliness is another kind of call to go on growing in ways that take us beyond dependency on others to the creation of life’s most important resources within ourselves.
Loneliness is a sign that there are whole parts of us that cry out for development. After all, we are meant to be more than our social lives. We are meant to have inner lives that are themselves rich and satisfying. It is a matter of learning how to become good company for ourselves. We are not meant to lie awake at night wondering if someone, anyone, will come to our rescue. We are meant to be our own best friends.
And at that point, I am the only one who can rescue me. The others can accompany me. They can look out for me. They can offer me their support and understanding and care. But if there is something missing in my life, I’m the only one who really knows what it is. I am the only one who can put it there.
Every life deals with loneliness at some point or other: Our partner dies; sickness sets in that makes the old social calendar impossible; we find ourselves in a new job, a new town, a new country, a new world. More than one person who was once naturally outgoing and apparently self-confident has succumbed to all of those things. The problem is that the more we withdraw, the more withdrawn we become. People stop calling. No one stops by. I never meet anyone new. I never do meaningful new things. But then is not the time to hide from the world; then is the time to strike out in totally new ways to find the rest of the self in the rest of the world.
It is the opportunity we do not seek, to do things wenever thought of doing, and in the end it is an invitation to become new again.
This is the moment the old frame cracks, the old certainties fail, the old patterns and habits and social clubs disappear. The tried-and-true are not only useless now, they are simply gone. The only possibility for emotional survival lies at a time like this in going out into a totally strange place, trusting ourself to new people. Not to burden them but to learn from them. It means that we must do something we have never done before—join a book club or a quilting group or deliver trays for Meals on Wheels—anything that provides structure and regularity until, suddenly, we have a new circle of friends to help us plan our own time differently.
But loneliness is about more than simply figuring out how to use time while we try to forget the pain that comes when we’re at loose ends. It is
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