Last night, I cried. It was unexpected. It was inevitable. It was necessary.
Ironically, it was after an incredibly fun night with my awesome friends. We’re in a mini golf league this summer, have I mentioned that? Last night was the first night. We drank beers, laughed and hit balls. Afterwards, we went for food and drinks. It was a good night. It was a great night.
Then I walked home. It was a full moon. It was a beautiful Seattle night, with the smell of the rain still lingering.
I came home, undressed, headed straight to bed – and started crying.
There’s been this loneliness creeping underneath the surface. This pain that I don’t talk about, and try not to think about.
My life is good, I remind myself daily.
I’m loved, my friends remind me.
I do good work, my coworkers tell me.
I’m not alone, but I am often lonely.
One of my best friends and I were having a conversation a couple of weeks ago and I teared up a little. We hadn’t had a one-on-one in a while. She reminded me that being independent and building the life I want can be, ironically, lonely.
That’s the way it goes.
Crying is good. It’s cleansing. I’m emotional – it’s part of the package.
The loneliness, though? I don’t know how to overcome it. It’s the biggest irony of my life. An ambivert with an independent soul that craves solitude to recharge – but also craves the intimacy provided by other people.
So, sometimes, I just cry myself to sleep.
The next day is always a little better, even if my heart is always heavy.