I just sent a long email, and a text message, to a friend I’ve not seen in a long time. As we grow older and our friends morph into the diaspora of the aged, I wonder whether it’s safe to make close connections at any point in life. Though that has rarely been an issue with me because I’ve been either unable to make those connections or unwilling to expose myself to what that could mean, it’s on my mind now. Invariably, friends and family move away or die, leaving empty spaces impossible to fill with new acquaintances. I can’t think of a single person I call friend today who I knew thirty years ago. I have friends I’ve known for twenty years and more, but they are part of that diaspora of friends, aged or aging, who wander in search of success, money, power, decency…who knows what?
Tonight, I feel sad and alone, though that’s probably just me lavishing self-pity on myself. I wish I could talk to someone who might understand, though, how rough it feels to be lonely even when surrounded by loving and lovely people. That’s not the way things should be, but occasionally, at least, that’s the way things are.
I have friends who will die soon. That’s hard to know. But it’s not impossible to accept. It’s not impossible to accept that I may die soon (though it’s not in my plans). Would that we would all try our best to sooth the experience of one another’s time on his planet. Is that too much to ask? Wouldn’t we all experience more happiness, greater joy, if we just accepted and nurtured one another? Well, sure. But there are those among us who need superiority. Ach. That’s why they make drugs that make euthanasia more than a thought, but a reality.
—————-EDIT OF FEBRUARY 9—————–
I do, of course, have a very few friends who I’ve known for more than thirty years. God, I’ve known a few for around forty years. But last night, when I was writing this, I was in the midst of a strange tangle of self-imposed detachment. I do that from time to time. I’ve broken out of that web of emotional cables.