Loneliness

I have no shame in admitting that, in the past few days, I have felt quite lonely. I have just returned from a 25-day trip, where I spent a week in Little Rock catching up with my good friends from college, my family, some professors, and, most importantly, my dog, Socks.

For the next 18 days, I traveled in Japan with my fiancée, Nanami, who I hadn't seen for almost 7 months. Together we explored Tokyo, where she currently lives and works, and Kyoto, and traveled to her hometown where we spent a week laughing, eating, and traveling with her family.

The warmth and happiness I felt with my ole' friends created a beautiful aura about me--it felt so good to be back to how things use to be, nurtured by relationships that have taken years and years to build and cultivate. Everything made sense, everything felt right--the everyday habits of waking up next to someone you feel like you've known forever (and who you know you'll spend the rest of your life with) or drinking coffee and eating dinner (once again) with the same ole' people takes on incredible significance when one realizes that even those mundane moments are meaningful and ameliorative to the human spirit, despite their impermanence. Yes, walking down the stairs of my parents' house, following the smell of the morning coffee, greeting my dad and dog; yelling at Nanami to close the door to the bathroom hotel so no bad smells will intrude upon my peaceful sleep; drinking a few beers or cooking a simple breakfast of sausage and eggs with college friends while we ponder the meaning of life--these are the rewards and gifts of my being alive. Not my career (whatever that is); not my monetary pursuits; not my possessions. But rather these moments of mundane intimacy.

When I returned to Reno, I walked into my cold, dark apartment and realized, "Dear God--that's all over now. I'm alone in this apartment, in a city I just moved to. And worse yet, I have to eat dinner alone . . . again." To mirror my dour mood, I chose to eat peanut butter and jelly.

I've been trying to get back into my routine of reading, writing, studying, and preparing for school, but frankly, it's been hard. It's hard to shake off the memories of such a beautiful trip so that I can busy myself with work--work that I do love, but that sometimes seems insignificant in comparison to what I have left behind. The aching pain is so potent that at times I find myself on the verge of tears, swamped by a horde of self-doubt and confusion--Have I made the right decisions? Do I have my "priorities" straight? Will I have regrets in the future? When will everything be okay?

As every generation of human beings has said (yes, every), we live in strange times. We are a species of animal that is deeply and innately social. Practically everything about us is a social inheritance, it seems, whether it be the genes passed down from my ancestors to me, or the ideas (memes) that I have knowingly (or unknowingly) borrowed from family, friends, writers, philosophers, musicians, politicians, etc., etc., etc. And yet the practices of modern academia and economics requires that intimate social relationships be broken so that individuals can pursue their personal dreams. And I am not so sure that those individual pursuits justify the loss of intimate relationships.

So I feel stuck . . . and desperately trying to find a way out, a solution, a lifeboat, anything!, I ask myself, "What do I do?!" Do I sacrifice one for the other (career versus relationships)? Or, perhaps, is it possible that both can coexist?

With the support and advice from friends, I am beginning to see that, yes, we can have both. And indeed, it would be epistemologically and existentially hypocritical of me to choose one over the other, for globalization has created who I am, just as much as intimate relationships have created who I am. Globalization brought me fascinating academic studies that I would never have encountered had globalization never occurred. And, of course, Globalization brought Nanami to po-dunk Conway, Arkansas, where we met in a Chinese class, which I decided to register for when in China the previous summer with my very good, Chinese friend, Andrew Ni.

So, to comfort myself, I'm trying to reassure my doubts by noticing the creative possibilities offered by our world today. Did you know that I can iMessage my family and friends for free, and they'll receive my words within microseconds? Did you know that Nanami and I can spend about an hour per day talking to each other for free, while seeing each others' faces? Did you know that I can fly to my hometown and Japan for less than 5% of my annual income? Did you know that an incredibly efficient and cheap mailing system allows my mom to send me care packages and allows me to send Nanami Twizzlers? Did you know that one of the [intended] purposes of Facebook is to peruse past photos, comments, and posts, so as to remind oneself of the relationships she has had and her obligation to keep tending to them?

And, of course, if we find ourselves separated from loved ones, we can always begin the slow and difficult process of settling in to our new locales--growing roots of connectedness with the land and people around us, who, albeit strangers, may one day also become our intimate friends. And I am very fortunate to live in a place where that seems to be happening.

So, in short, if you ever find yourself feeling a little lonely, don't look down into your sorrows too long. Look up, and see the creative possibilities we have. Ponder what has been, and be thankful for it. Then imaginatively discover new ways to maintain the relationships you left behind, and don't be afraid to create new ones. This life isn't easy . . . but with the presence of friends and family, whether that presence be physically near you or virtually expressed on the web, life can easily become a rich, meaningful, and beautiful experience.