April 4, 2022
Editor: Lily Wachtel
Artist: Halley Barger Elliott
Dealing with Loneliness from Only-ness
Mid-summer every year, my extended family on my dad’s side would go on a beach vacation in Maine. We’d stay at a little motel near the shore whose wooden panels were dark and saggy yet their garden would always be filled with flowers. It’s a spot where time hangs with the heat in the sky and slowly burns out with the sun at sunset. That is, until we got there.
Now, mind you, my immediate family is three people, my parents and I. My paternal extended family consists of my dad’s twin, her husband, their three kids, and my grandparents; I'm in the middle of them all age-wise. In the middle of my papa’s own rigid vacation routine, us kids would cause chaos. Diving competitions in the pool were followed by games in the motel’s hallways. Our favorite was playing soccer with a balloon ball. We’d run up and down on the mildewy carpet, stomping our feet and slamming the ball into the walls. As you may have guessed, we weren’t on the first floor either. Yet, after we’d get reprimanded and the exciting high would wear off, I’d have to retreat back to my room without the other three. I always felt like the space between our diagonally facing rooms got larger every time I’d get turned down when I asked for a sleepover. It was always “too late” but all I wanted .
Growing up an only child, I deeply desired to have a sibling. Setting the specifications more exactly, I wanted someone close to my age who I didn’t have to ask their mom for a sleepover at the end of the night; they had a room across the hall from mine and we could play or talk all night. Unfortunately, I’ll never have a sibling (unfortunately my best friends don’t count), I’ve chosen to go inward and connect with my inner child, the one sadly pouting that she couldn’t have a sleepover.
Connecting to my younger self comes in many different forms. By doing these different things, I fulfill my core needs, the ones I feel like I’ve had since I was a child. Some days, when I feel that familiar loneliness, I’ll hear it out by journaling. By slowing down, I’m spending time with myself creating. In doing so, I listen to my need for self-care quality time. Other times, I feel a deep desire to play. So then, I grab my longboard and find my way over to a park where I sit on the swings and listen to music.
Growing up and learning the best way I can take care of myself in the present has been influenced by the needs of myself from the past. I’m learning from myself and cultivating a sister relationship that I never thought I’d have.
Two poems to show the balance of self-fulfillment (sometimes wild/rebellious & sometimes quiet/peaceful)
From the Top of the Hill
I used to tie knots
into blades of grass
making little loops
hoping I wasn’t hurting it.
I became more cognizant
later on. It’s rooted
deeper than what
shows on the surface.
Youthful ignorance
long gone, now
my hands find the ground,
this time to connect
with her.
No twisting
or tying. We spend time
together feeling
blades of grass
warmed by the sun.
Why I Walk Through Puddles
Little me used to splash around, stop,
examine her reflection
mixed with dirt. Catch
raindrops on her tongue. Stand
in them.
Moments of play-
time rewind. Counting
seconds down
fingers fold forward
onto palm. Numbers
ticking upward
in progress focused society. Only
forward always.
Conventional, it seems, to only
think about what’s coming
rather than searching the reverse
for meaning in memories.
I don’t care for correctness.
I care about her.
She was never heard so
she never listened. Soaking
her slippers. Standing in
a downpour. Rain lovingly
lent an ear, she stomped
with joy; smile saying every
word she couldn’t scream.
When she dissolved
into a droplet, slick
encapsulation, one second
of childhood, another fell.
One day I woke up, without her.
I searched my skin, counting freckles
on my arms. Checking my body
to no avail, I am
alone.
Now,
when it’s wet, I walk
through pooled water. Stop,
stare, bend over, and wave.
Hello, I’ve found you