Not all the time and not every day. But I feel like writing about fear.

I’m still scared of Covid because it keeps morphing, even though I’m maskinated like all my friends and very careful. I’m scared for other people; especially children in low-vax areas. Pan out worldwide and I’m horrified for humanity, generally. Refugees, those trapped in war, the poor and the abused. And for the planet and its animals, dying under the plastic hooves of human selfishness.

What I’m personally scared of, contemplating this coming winter, is loneliness, mainly. I feel it already on an ordinary weekend, living alone. That was true pre-Covid, too. I have a handful of wonderful friends I thank the stars for daily, and an amazing Covenant Group. But sometimes in my sweet little house I’m still struck by a sensation of isolation that cuts too deep for health. The research is plain; loneliness shortens life.

Many people don’t call each other any more just to talk. They send messages or text. (I hate texting, typing on that little thing.) My stubborn belief is that most social media is anti-social (social scientists have found that in the aggregate, it undermines community and increases loneliness). So I’m not on Facebook, Twitter or other digital platforms. Exceptions: I love email — it’s correspondence! — and post comments on the Washington Post and New York Times sites. I feel happy when one gets a lot of Likes, so I get the endorphin jolts.

I’m afraid I’ll die alone and nobody will notice and my dog will get so hungry she’ll eat me. (She’s welcome to it, of course.) I’m scared other people in isolation might die lonely, too. Happens even in charming Cville, and in this congregation. I have no family in my life but have friends and neighbors I trust. And the big guy at CVS; we always check in. That’s more than some people can say.

It’s not that natural bouts of loneliness are scary in themselves. They do pass. Somebody will call or email and I’ll stop pretending I’m not lonely if I am, or I’ll pull together the will to reach out myself. I think it’s important to say how you really feel, without shame. American culture disapproves of not being full-time independent, productive and busy with self improvement, so I think many people are ashamed to say, “I’m lonely.” Maybe my spiritual practice is simply SSOL — Saying Stuff Out Loud.

As a Worship Weaver I once gave two sermons on loneliness, many years apart. So this feeling must just be part of my nature. I crave time alone (couldn’t write, otherwise) and have long stretches of contented solitude. But from childhood, I also remember the periodic sensation that having no one to talk to was a big, dark threat to my wellbeing. I don’t know exactly why, though religious and family dynamics were certainly at play. My mother was an anxious person who spent hours on the phone. I think she wore out her friends with her neediness.

That’s another American specialty; labelling. Well, I’m needy too. I especially need my church community and have recently engaged with more frequency. I wandered into the Tuesday Topics online group yesterday and felt a big bolt of relief. My beloved Covenant Group has an outdoor reunion potluck later this week. I’m slowly dating again on a website for senior singles. That’s going to be fun whether or not I find The One. “Hi! Nice to see your forehead!”

My agnostic spirituality used to soothe me; I’m rebuilding it. I have no private rituals yet because the slow disappointment of failing faith was so acute they’d feel fake. But I do have kernels of mysticism and of trusting, and know that risking trust is my answer. That’s all this is, really.

I don’t have anything clever here; just writing it out. I’m an extroverted-introvert and long past modesty. And I so love this congregation, even though I’ve grown allergic to Zoom. Trust me, I’ll be a Zoom junkie again as the cold closes in. How about you?

If you’re lonely, I’ll call or email you. If you’d like an encouraging hello, please let me know. I won’t fret, but I will understand. I like to write to people, not just about them.

And now I don’t feel lonely any more.

Hmmm. Funny how that works.

–Laura Wallace