Jenifer’s Journal: Solo — coping with loneliness

You know how “Bogo” means “Buy one, Get one free,” or  “Nofo” stands for North Fork? In addition to its conventional meaning: “Done by one person alone, unaccompanied,” I’m beginning to think that “Solo” might stand for “So lonely,” at least for me. 

I think the specter of loneliness has been dogging my heels all summer. Playing “Hagar,” the lonely “old Indian woman — last of her tribe,” in the Historical Society’s fundraiser, “The Lords of Menantic,” hasn’t exactly steered me away from the specter. It seems that suddenly its ubiquitous head has been rearing up from all sorts of newspapers, magazines, books, etc., and, well, I’ve written about it more than once myself in this column.  

When page one of this past Sunday’s New York Times Opinion section announced that “The United States is facing an ‘epidemic’ of loneliness, and doctors, scientists and clinicians are searching for a solution,” I finally turned around and looked my own loneliness in its face … again.

It’s been four years and change since my husband’s death. I thought I had a pretty good handle on “grieving.” I wrote about grief, and letting it have its way with me and, maybe for the first time in my life, not looking for an instruction book or “how-to” manual in order to “get through” a life passage. (Though I do wonder if there is a Grieving for Dummies out there somewhere.)

I think I finally realized at some point that it was not so much a question of “getting through” grief as it was about allowing it to work its way through me. I thought I’d learned a lot about the process, and about me, him and us, but somewhere along the line that grief kind of congealed into loneliness. And now, here it’s been another year, and I keep asking, like the kid in the back seat of the car: Are we there yet? 

When is the loneliness over? Or is it like Long-COVID?

The opinion piece in the New York Times I mentioned was written by Eleanor Cummins and Andrew Zaleski. The authors ask: “If loneliness is an epidemic, how do we treat it? Given its myriad of health consequences, some experts argue it’s time to consider new remedies … As a growing body of research indicates, loneliness is a biological phenomenon with far-reaching consequences.”

It goes on to say: “Research has shown that a lonely brain is transformed. Neuro-transmitters important for bonding and social connection go haywire.” (Oh, great — haywire.) The authors continue: “Such changes in the brain may help to explain why some lonely individuals perceive their social environment as threatening … Depression, grief, social anxiety — what might be termed symptoms of a lonely life — can follow.  For some people, loneliness becomes a self-perpetuating feedback loop and turns chronic.”

The point of the Times piece seems to be that, given the neurological implications of loneliness, perhaps we should at least consider exploring the possible benefits of medication.

The authors are quick to point out, however, that, “There is a risk involved in assessing chronic loneliness on clinical grounds, which might distract attention from the question of ‘Why in the world are we so isolated?’” 

According to the writers, “Unlike depression or anxiety, loneliness is not a mental health disorder. The American Psychiatric Association has developed clear diagnostic criteria for those other conditions, [but] such standards do not exist for chronic loneliness. Though the goal is not to pathologize loneliness … health care workers will need clear guidelines for identifying loneliness and triaging care.”

It’s certainly comforting for someone like me, whose brain may likely be going “haywire,” that someone else may be developing guidelines for “triaging” my care. In the meantime, here are a few things I’ve been learning about loneliness during my own involuntary research:

That maybe loneliness is really a kind of chronic grieving. And that one season of the year is no more loneliness-intensive than another.

I used to think autumn had a corner on that market, but summer, for instance, with all the lovely long-weekend expeditions I haven’t been taking piling up, and all those early morning on-the-road diner breakfasts I’m not sharing, provides some stiff competition.

That the memories that were so fresh — of enjoying simple pleasures with someone — memories that were so full of both pleasure and pain when the grieving was fresh, though still wonderful, are beginning to feel like they belong to someone else — the other me.

And yet, there is such an abundance of beauty, of beginnings, in my life, in my family, my island, my work, that even long-loneliness can’t obscure them.

Maybe “solo” can sometimes stand for “so lovely,” too.