Precision

I love words–the right word in the right moment, the perfect turn of phrase, the exact essence of a thing. Maybe this is the biproduct of studying literature, particularly poetry. Maybe this is the consequence of being the youngest in a family of voracious readers with sharp wits and even sharper tongues. Debates turn on the meaning of a single word. Craig and I affectionately refer to this as “playing the semantic harp.” Words matter, and so I play on.

Recently, in conversations with both my bestie and my sissy I realize I have been using a word incorrectly with hurtful ramifications. I have talked about being lonely. But here’s the thing, I’m not. Not really. I am not isolated, unloved, without friendship or companionship. Every day I share life with my friends, family, co-workers, neighbors. “Becci, come over, we’re making pizza on Friday.” Not alone. “Becci, I’m coming to visit.” Or “let’s go for a walk.” Not isolated. “Becci, let’s go grab coffee.” Not without friendship. “I’m on my way.” “I appreciate you.” “You matter to me.” “I love you stupid.” This is a life full of connection and I am so lucky.

The word I’ve been trying to articulate is bereft. The connection of heart, soul, mind, and body that I had with my person is gone in the way that I had grown accustomed. That gnawing absence feels very similar to loneliness. The ache. The longing to be in connection like that is visceral and overwhelming. That I got the privilege to experience something so precious and rare at all makes me incredibly lucky. But knowing in my bones what that is also makes me long for it still…