Tour Diary: Lonely Planet

(July 4, 2012) NEW ORLEANS, LA — I always wondered why those guide books were called “Lonely Planet.” Then I went on the road.

On the 4th of July, I celebrated my independence by watching cheesy movies, eating unhealthy food and drinking rootbeer. And I did it all by myself. I’m not writing this to attract sympathy or pity, but because the idea of loneliness is on my mind a lot these days and I thought it might help me — or someone else — to write about it.

Loneliness is insidious. It’s something I was dealing with even before I left on my tour, but being on the road for 5 weeks has only heightened it and pointed out to me just how much I need people in my life on more than a temporary basis.

A couple months back, I came across the UCLA Loneliness Scale, a simple series of questions intended to measure how lonely you feel. Let’s just say I didn’t score well, unless the object was to get the high score, in which case I’m a champion.

I think many people who read this and compare it to what I do for a living might be surprised. I spend most of my time around people, often talking about meaningful things and exploring what it means to be human. Until recently I lived in one of the world’s major cities and I had at least one (and at the end, more than one) roommate for the past 18 months. Before that, with the exception of a short time at the end of my stay in Albany, I lived with the same person for 15 years. And eventually with two kids as well. Before I was married, I lived by myself for a little while in Tucson. Before that, a roommate. Before that, one year in college, also with a roommate. Before that, Japan with a family. Before that, at home with my parents and sister. So for nearly my entire life I’ve lived with other people. And yet this is no barrier whatsoever to loneliness. I’d go so far as to say it can accentuate the problem.

Because loneliness isn’t about being alone. I am sometimes quite happy to be all by myself. We all need that kind of downtime in our lives. Time to process. Time to reflect. Time to play your own music at full volume no matter what anyone thinks. Just time to be in your own world.

For example, I look back on my recent solo canoe excursion in Tennessee as a joyous event, even though I was completely alone while doing it. I relished the quiet, the solitude, the hours of calm amidst the frenzied pace of the tour.

No, loneliness is more — and worse — than not having anyone around. I think it comes from a fundamental feeling of disconnection from your environment and the people in it. From feeling like you’re not part of a community. This isolation is often slow to make itself known, but once it grabs hold of you it’s very hard to dislodge.

Jen, the woman to whom I was married for all those years (and with whom I’m still close friends) and I often remarked that we never had many, if any, friends in the places where we lived. We were friends with one another, and sometimes we’d have social acquaintances outside the home, but very often we had no one in whom we confided anything or with whom we shared the joys and sorrows of our lives. I think the problem was more accute for Jen than for me, because I tend to be very disclosive. As soon as I meet someone who feels like a friend, I drop all the normal filters that people have that stop them from revealing too much. Just ask anyone I’ve met in the past, oh, 20 years or so.

For me, though, I think the situation really came to a head when economics caused Jen and our sons to move from Albany to Pennsylvania, while I stayed behind. I moved into a basement apartment downtown. And thus began my first time living on my own since a brief few months in 1994.

There were some good points. The feeling of complete control over my environment, for one. But after a while that level of control wore thin and I began to long for the disruptions caused by the presence of other lives, other minds, other bundles of emotions. I began to feel completely isolated from the world, even from the few friends I had. Once I lost my job, this feeling intensified.

I early 2011, I moved to New York. I stayed with my parents and sister, then moved in with a series of roommates and eventually, when economics made this a necessity, with the person I was dating and her roommates. And then, as most of you know by now, this situation fell through and I was faced with having no place to live. And thus was the “Jazz Or Bust” tour born.

If you’ve been following my daily diaries, you know that I’ve met a series of wonderful, kind, generous people on this tour. I don’t for a minute want to suggest anything other than that. I can’t begin to describe, let alone repay, the kindness I’ve been shown on this tour.

But being with people is not the same as feeling connected. There were two very important people in my life in New York and I miss them both terribly. The phone and email and Skype can’t replace that. I’ve been living apart from my kids for more than two years now, and that’s taken its toll on all of us, even though I do my best to be as present in their lives as I can. And even simple things like not sleeping in my own bed, or having keys to a place to call my own, begin to add up after a while. Heck, Steinbeck knew enough to bring Charley when he went on the road.

I’m not sure this post is going to end with any great theory or words of wisdom. After I leave New Orleans, I’m hoping to spend most of August with my sons in PA. Then I’ll start the second leg of the tour, and I think someone will be coming with me. If that happens, it’ll make all this that much easier.

One thing I can say is that if you have someone in your life, let them know how important they are. And work hard on your friendships. Because someday you may realize that they’re the most vital part of your life.

Meanwhile, I’m going to work hard on enjoying my time here in New Orleans and on starting the second part of the tour with fresh eyes and a renewed hope. Having said everything I just said above, it’s still true that I’m excited to be out here on the road, experiencing America and finding all the wonderful people I never would have met otherwise.