I love learning new things, and I still remember how good it felt to finally identify the causes and conditions that set me up for a drink. I discovered that I mostly drank over the resentments I hung on to, the fear I had grown accustomed to, and the guilt and shame I carried because of the things I’d done. But I also drank when I felt lonely.
It is no exaggeration to say that almost without exception, alcoholics are tortured by loneliness—especially in the final days of our drinking, when our illness isolates us, then moves in for the kill by bringing to mind our regrets, convincing us that we are hopeless and worthless. Then, to make matters worse, self-pity takes over and grips us so tightly that blackouts or suicide seem to be our only options.
I’ve learned to work out my recovery on two planes: a spiritual connection with God, and an altruistic connection with my alcoholic friends, helping them without expecting anything in return. This formula has brought sobriety and a life I truly love, but there’s always a new perspective to be learned—and that happened recently when I took a vacation in Massachusetts.
Since I’ve been sober, most of my vacations have been spent with family, since I rarely went near them during my drinking years. Sobriety has given me a strong desire to spend as much time with my parents as possible, but since I’ve seen them a lot recently, I didn’t feel badly about heading off for a week of vacation by myself—in the Berkshires! The history, culture, and natural beauty found in those mountains along the western borders of Massachusetts, New York, and Vermont are amazing, and I was ready to explore.
But as soon as I began to unpack my suitcase, something became very obvious.
I was alone.
I brushed the thought aside. It’s no big deal. I can make friends anywhere. That’s true, of course. Sobriety has restored my self-worth, allowing me to speak easily to anyone. And since my new sober nature is to encourage, I find myself making friends quickly and easily.
But I didn’t know anyone here, so there was no one to talk to about the beautiful mountains, the interesting history, or the new things I would see and feel—and realized how alone I really was.
I think I should tell you that sobriety has caused me to feel a real aversion to self-pity, and since my loneliest years were spent slogging around in that stuff, I notice it as soon as it shows up. I remember thinking, Am I feeling sorry for myself because there’s no one to share all this with? And the honest answer was, no. I wasn’t. But I still felt alone.
Then I wondered if I could feel alone without feeling sorry for myself. Was there a word to describe it? I searched through my dictionary app on my phone and found a synonym that fit exactly—solitude.
I immediately started to read up on what it meant, and found that many folks look to it as a time where they can think and rest without being disturbed. Jesus Christ Himself often sought out solitude. The Gospel of Luke mentions many times that He slipped away to a mountain or the wilderness to pray and commune with His Father.
Every once in a while, when I have found myself alone, I’ve realized (in retrospect) that solitude has had a very positive effect on me. It has given me the opportunity to ponder thoughts that only come to me when I’m quiet. But more than anything, it has freed up space to pray and meditate on the loving God I know today.
So what is the difference between loneliness and solitude? Loneliness is the pain of being alone, while solitude refers to the joy of being alone. Solitude helps me understand who I am and reminds me of who I want to become, without the distraction of the outside world. It’s the time I need for self-examination. It’s the experience of being flooded with feelings of gratitude, or the realization of how great and vast God’s Universe is. How small I really am in the grand scope of things.
Instead of loneliness, this vacation gave me the great gift of learning. I listened to the thoughts God brought to my heart—and I loved it! Standing on top of one of the highest peaks, I felt the cool air blowing around me. I looked out to the blue skies and green mountains and I smiled. A long time.
God even set up several opportunities for me to share recovery with others—like the lady who sat at the next table as I ate breakfast one day. Her son had a serious problem with alcohol, and she’d sent him to a rehab, but now he was drinking again. She was so distraught that she told me all about it. Then she realized it and apologized profusely, but I reassured her it was fine—and shared some answers I’d found.
“What are the odds that I would run into you today?” she asked, and I just smiled and thought, The odds were very good, indeed! Then I answered, “You know, God never puts two people together to help just one. You have helped me, too!”
That wasn’t my only opportunity, of course. Two distraught folk in the service industry, as well as several others I met in recovery meetings unburdened their hearts to me. All they needed was a different perspective—and I guess I did, as well. My perspective on spending time alone was changed. Instead of feeling lonely, I felt gratitude, joy, awe, contentment, peace and quiet, and the great feeling of walking hand in hand with the God of the Universe in His great and beautiful world.
It was an awesome vacation. And I learned something I really needed to know.
