The Still Point of the Hurricane

I feel like I’m standing in the middle of a hurricane.

Looking out, life and people seem to whirl past me in a cartoonish blur, passing me by while I stand impossibly still.

I keep trying to put my finger on exactly why I feel this way. Why I feel left behind. A little forgotten. A little bit like an afterthought.

Even though I’ve recently moved—making a big personal shift—I can’t help but feel stalled. It’s like I’ve been pulled back and suddenly released, only to slam into a glass wall. I can see beyond it, to the other side, but I don’t know how to get there.

Maybe I need to have more gratitude for what I have in my life and what I’ve accomplished. Perhaps I don’t have an accurate vision or perspective of myself. Maybe I’m moving so fast I only seem to be standing still?

And maybe I’m so engrossed in focusing on what I lack and what I still desire that I’ve stuck myself in the mire.

But then I wonder: why do I keep treating wanting more as though it means I’m not grateful for what I already have? Because I am grateful.

I have a life I’ve worked incredibly hard to build. A career, a daughter, a home, interests, and passions that bring me joy. I’ve traveled, created, learned, grown, and become a woman I’m genuinely proud to be. I know how to make a life for myself—I’ve been doing it for years.

But sometimes I wonder if that’s part of the problem.

I’ve become so accustomed to doing things on my own that I don’t know what it feels like to have someone else show up and say, “Hey, I want to do that with you.”

I desperately want to fall in love. I want to share my life.

I want to have friends I spend time with regularly. People I laugh with until I cry. People who call just because they were thinking about me. People who invite me along because they genuinely want me there. I want to continue going on adventures—trying new things, eating new food, learning new things.

And I want to fall in love.

I want someone sitting across the table from me, laughing about something that probably isn’t even funny to anyone else. Someone to share the mundane details of my day with. Someone who remembers the little things. Someone who wants to know what I’m thinking about, what I’m reading, what I’m dreaming of. Someone who looks forward to seeing me as much as I look forward to seeing them.

I want that in my friendships, too. I want to feel like I’m part of other people’s lives, not someone who occasionally passes through.

Maybe that’s what this feeling of being left behind is really about. Not that everyone else is accomplishing more, doing more, or experiencing more—but that, from where I’m standing, everyone seems to be doing life together. And I’m still doing so much of mine alone.

It’s lonely. And ironically, it’s especially lonely when you’re perfectly capable of being alone.

I can take myself out to dinner. I can travel by myself. I can make decisions, solve problems, and figure things out. I can find joy in my own company—and I do. But being capable of doing something alone doesn’t mean I always want to.

I’ve spent so much of my adult life learning how to be independent, how to trust myself, and how to stop looking outside myself for validation or permission. Now I wonder whether I’ve confused being independent with not needing anyone.

Because I do need people. Not to rescue me. Not to complete me. Not to make my life meaningful. But to share it.

I haven’t quite known how to articulate that. I’ve heard so many versions of the same advice over the years: Focus on yourself. Do what you love. Build a beautiful life. Stop looking for love, and it will find you.

I’ve done those things. I’m still doing them. But what happens when you’ve built a life you love, and you still find yourself wishing there were more people in it? What happens when you’re genuinely happy with who you’ve become, but still ache for the experience of being loved?

I don’t have an answer, and it leaves me feeling stuck.

So many things in life respond to effort. If I want to learn something, I can study. If I want to change something, I can make a plan. If I want an adventure, I can book a ticket. But I can’t make someone fall in love with me. I can’t make someone want to be my friend. I can’t make someone think of me when they’re planning their weekend.

I can put myself out there. I can be open, available, curious, and willing. But I can’t create reciprocity on my own.

It’s an uncomfortable place to stand when you’re accustomed to being the person who makes things happen.

Maybe that’s the glass wall. I can see the life I want. I can almost feel it—the laughter, the companionship, the shared adventures, the ordinary evenings that become extraordinary simply because of who you’re spending them with. But I don’t know how to get from here to there.

This isn’t something I can force my way through. It isn’t another challenge to overcome, another lesson to learn, or another part of myself I need to heal. I’m not necessarily doing anything wrong.

I’m just lonely. And I don’t particularly like admitting that.

It’s vulnerable to acknowledge that you want to be chosen. That you want people to seek you out. That you want to be important to someone in the same way they’re important to you—especially when you’ve spent so much time learning that your worth isn’t determined by whether someone chooses you.

I know that. I believe it. But knowing I’m worthy of love doesn’t make me want it any less.

Maybe that’s the distinction I’ve been struggling to make.

I can love myself and still want someone else to love me. I can be grateful for my life and still wish parts of it were different. And I can be proud of how far I’ve come while feeling disappointed that some of the things I’ve wanted for so long haven’t arrived.

Gratitude and longing can exist together. I don’t have to choose one over the other.

And, maybe I’m not really standing still.

Maybe I’m just tired of moving and progressing alone.

I still want to fall in love. With a person. With friendships. With shared experiences and ordinary moments that become memories.

I don’t know how to get to the other side of that glass wall.

But I can see what’s waiting beyond it.

And I want to be there.

Always,
Your Trusted Friend ❤︎