One Is the Loneliest Number
Three Dog Night sang it. Poets and writers have written of it. Movies and plays have portrayed it. The essential loneliness of our human existence and our yearning for connection is a primal force driving relationships, be it personal or religious. There is a delicacy and passion in those precious moments when we reach out to another person and there is a vivid response.
Most of us who have been circling the sun on this starship called Earth for more than a few revolutions have had that experience of Contact, when we encountered another who seems to resonate with similar feelings and ideas we hold dear, or at least is willing to validate our experience of the universe. If we are very fortunate, we find a partner to share our life, our hopes, our dreams. But even for those of us who are so blessed, there remains a yearning, a hunger for sharing parts of ourselves with other people, (or in some cases with other creatures of Nature – how else to explain our relationship to our pets?) with friends, or even with a sympathetic stranger. And thus blogs are born. Does anyone feel that the blogging phenomenon would continue to exist and grow were it not for the “comments” section attached to the end? True, many of us have kept diaries and journals long before the Internet was even a concept. It was a way of recording our thoughts and impressions for a later time, when memory of inciting events had long faded. It was also a way of organizing our ideas, examining our feelings, and that still holds true today.
We had a conversation yesterday regarding a get-together with people we knew, and how often the conversation in these gatherings would be so superficial and meaningless, we wondered why we bothered to speak at all. Yet, when we met some of these people one on one, we would talk about topics that mattered to us at some length. Blogging seems to fill that need, at least for some of us, to express thoughts and feelings that have meaning to us, and to seek a response from cyberspace from someone who could appreciate and offer a response to our point of view. Is this just innate insecurity on our part, a need for affirmation in what we hold true? Or is it just our primal need for contact, our way of huddling together against a vast cosmos in whose enormity our speck-like insignificance, can, for the moment, be ameliorated by the reassurance, “Yes, I hear you, and you are not alone.”