Everyone has some kind of underlying vulnerability. We might not like to call it that. We might even try to deny its existence. But it’s usually there in us all, to varying degrees. In my case, it takes the form of an underlying sense of ‘aloneness’. Now, don’t worry. There is no need to make a fuss or feel sorry for me. It has been around for as long as I can remember. Ironically it almost feels like a life-long companion of sorts; a feeling that is as familiar to me as the experience of being in my own body or knowing my name to be ‘Kate’. For a long time I thought it reflected a failing in me, or certainly in my life circumstances. This worried me, upset me even — and I battled to find ways to eradicate the feeling. But slowly I came to realise that it had nothing whatsoever to do with me or my circumstances. It did not reflect any failing or shortcoming. It was simply part of my experience of being human, a kind of existential pea that sat lodged at the centre of my metaphorical mattress of life. For the most part I have got used to sleeping on it without discomfort but there are still times when it keeps me awake at night and leaves me with a gnawing feeling of sleep deprivation or worse when morning comes.
For this reason, I have always been interested in the subject of loneliness, solitude and aloneness, as well as their counterparts: connection, community and companionship. What are they exactly? Where do they exist? What do they really mean? In my case, my life is full of loving relationships. It is full of people and enriching experiences. It is a life of ‘plenty’ and yet, and yet…..the feeling persists.
I have read a ton on this subject. I can’t recommend highly enough Olivia Laing’s ‘The Lonely City’ for example, or ‘The Stranger in the Woods’, an incredible account, written by Michael Finkel, of a man in the USA who chose to live in the woods for 25 years (true story). There are others, of course including the incredible Maria Popova’s written (and free!) explorations, now called ‘The Marginalian’, in which she often touches on the subject of loneliness and connection. My own experience of this sense of scarcity is definitely the main source of my creativity and for that, I am genuinely thankful. I also owe it thanks for the depth of relationship it has enabled (or perhaps forced) me to develop with myself — a relationship which I would love all children to learn to cultivate from as early an age as possible, alongside relationships with others. What greater gift is there than the ability to accompany oneself in all the moments of darkness and light that come our way in life?
While navigating my own path through all of this, I have come to see how it manifests in other people’s lives too. Despite my previous assumptions, I know now that the different configurations of family do not prevent the feeling from arising, though they may hide it or deflect from it (in other words people with spouses, partners, kids, dogs and yearly family holidays in the south of France still feel it! Surprising, right?!). The arising of the feeling has nothing necessarily to do with how many relationships, or of what quality one enjoys in life (though of course, their absence can exacerbate it). It is simply a facet of being human and one which in these times — when so many of us live lives of ‘plenty’ (full, fast, busy, peopled, connected in lots of different ways not least by technology) — is an increasingly common phenomenon. In amidst the ‘plenty’, we still find ourselves lacking that essential ingredient of deep connection. We still find ourselves missing something in the deepest corners of our being. And we still find ourselves reaching for it in the external world by grasping for more and more — be it people, work, adventure, money, alcohol, Netflix, the internet or something worse.
Maybe in the past the Church took care of this sort of thing for us. Perhaps religion still does for the millions of people for whom faith plays a part in life. Whether it removes the feeling completely, or provides comfort or relief from the feeling, I don’t know. But these days we are an increasingly faithless bunch so that’s not overly helpful.
My own experiments with this aspect of the human condition have led me to two conclusions. The first is that this sense of aloneness is not a feeling that can be eradicated completely. Whether we like it or not, it has a part to play in this thing called life and will only go away completely when life itself leaves us. The second is that we are almost always looking in the wrong place when we seek connection. Some relationships can provide a sense of connection, it is true. And purposeful work can also help. As for Netflix, alcohol, scrolling or some other recreational activity of the modern age, we all know, I think, that they are convenient anaesthetics that numb the feeling for a temporary period of time. Nothing more.
The greatest insight of all that I have gleaned is that the most fertile place to look for connection is inside ourselves. I believe that our search needs to be redirected inwards and no longer outwards. It is inside ourselves that we can find the richest sources of connection and there are two portals through which we can access that, both of which are infinitely available to us: creativity and nature.
Nature and creativity have always been part of my life, both gifted to me in large part by my Mum whose love of the outdoors and music was shared with me from a young age. From the Devonshire coast, the wilds of Dartmoor, the perfect beaches and bridal paths of Cornwall, the remote beauty of the Scilly Isles and the heathered hills of Wales, I always found some kind of joy and peace in the outdoors, even as a child. Later in life, some of the places I have come to love most have been those of remote, natural beauty — the Outer Hebrides, the vast plains and endless skies of Africa, the crashing ocean of any spot on the planet, the honeyed sun kissed pines of the Mediterranean, the empty stretches of the East Lothian coastline or the majesty of the Highlands. I defy anyone not to experience a deep sense of connection and peace in the company of these places.
As for creativity, it is itself an act of personal accompaniment for me. The magic of being able to turn emotion into creative expression, the experience of seeing or hearing my own ‘art’ reflect back to me something essential about who I am, is deeply affirming. In the last few years, I completed a training with the incredible Suzette Clough, artist, psychotherapist and all round wise, wonderful woman. Suzette is the founder of something called Visual Medicine, a creative practice that blends painting, journaling and inner reflection, and which provides those who do it with a profound sense of personal accompaniment and inner connection. It was she who suggested to me during my training, that perhaps I had been looking for companionship in the wrong places, and that if I looked to my creative practice, it might be a more fruitful place. It was a complete epiphany.
My belief in all of this — and my deepest wish — is that we can all access a deeper sense of connection in our lives, and that we don’t need to look any further than inside ourselves (sometimes the scariest place to look but at least no long-distance plane ticket required). I also believe that it is from this place of deeper connection that we can find a greater sense of belonging in the world, a greater sense of intimacy with ourselves and others, and a greater foundation for personal and collective well-being. That is surely something precious and, I am telling you, available to you too through a moment of contemplation in a forest or an afternoon spent bathing in the magic of colour spreading on a page.
My deep interest in this subject has led me to join forces with Sarah Hardman of Boldly Go to design some retreat experiences for people who identify with the life of plenty but the desire for deeper connection. In the months ahead we will be running some free taster sessions online and looking to run some in-person events later in the year that will marry together Forest Bathing with Visual Medicine — two profoundly compatible practices. Neither require any ‘talent’, simply a willingness to open oneself to the experience.
If you want to find out more about what we are planning, contact me via kate@neonclc.com.