Lonely, Together

What a dachshund and a dream at the edge of the universe showed me about connection

1.

I had a dream recently where I’d arrived at the last planet in the universe. Beyond this there was nothingness. There was a feeling of the end of civilisation, and I was walking around this planet noticing different groups of people - some were having fun, some were working together, some were, well I can’t remember exactly, but the feeling tone was people together doing stuff. And I was an outsider, peering in.

In the dream, as I’m wandering around this planet watching these groups of people, I notice that I am feeling lonely, and then I bump into one of my oldest friends, Dean. In real life, I have known Dean since primary school. We used to smoke twigs in his garden (you know that time when smoking twigs was really cool?). And Dean is one person in this world I feel I can say almost anything to. So, it’s not that surprising that in the dream, when I bump into Dean on this alien planet at the edge of the known universe, I open my heart to him, telling him how lonely I feel, and as I am opening up a deep feeling of grief arises in my chest. I can’t remember if I start crying in the dream or not, but the grief feels real and intense. And then I wake up.

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2.
I know we talk a lot about a loneliness epidemic these days, it’s worse for you than smoking, and all the chatter and good intentions that go along with that. But I am not convinced that these broader discussions are getting to the point, the point being that there is something fundamentally lonely about this human existence. I know this feels like a depressing thing to say, but it might be more empowering to embrace this fact. Humans are social creatures - I repeat this mantra at talks, workshops, in sessions - an incantation to remind us to connect more with each other. But I think I’ve been missing the other half of this equation:

humans are social creatures, who find it hard to connect.

Or maybe it’s just me?

I hope not. That would be a lonely place to be.

I was in the park recently with a friend, our kids, our dogs. A woman came over with a young dachshund and the children dropped to the grass, letting it climb on them, lick their faces, until they became a giggling cuddle puddle. And I noticed that my friend and I had both turned to watch, a little too gratefully, because between us, in the gap the dachshund had just filled, was an awkwardness. Two grown men, glad of a puppy to look at instead of each other.

Is connection really as simple as being more childlike? More dachshund?

Well, I’m not sure it’s that simple. Because our own puppy, a cavapoo, is exceedingly social. She goes up to everyone and tries to make a connection by licking, jumping up, bowing down, rolling onto her belly. But she is constantly rejected by other dogs. She is desperate to play, but most other dogs just don’t seem that bothered. And to be honest, every time she gets rejected, a little bit of my heart breaks. Perhaps it reminds me of all the times I had the courage or innocence or naiveté to reach out, sniff some bums, and then get knocked back, and perhaps I am projecting my own feelings of rejection onto my canine friend. Either way, she never seems to take the hint. Five minutes later she is sniffing bums again, wagging her tail, assuming there is a new connection around the corner.

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3.

Back to that dream. It’s the end of the world, and the end of the known universe. And in this apocalyptic moment, people aren’t freaking out, they are sitting together. There are no headless chickens in this scene, no-one is building bunkers or storing rations, or planning to escape to the next planet, because there are no next planets. There are no other options. This is the end of the road. These humans on this planet seem to have come to terms with the reality that things are going to end, and their response is: to hang out.

And I am carrying this subtle feeling of loneliness. I barely even notice it until I meet Dean, and finally I have someone I can share it with. In this moment, loneliness is not what separates us, but what brings us closer together. Which makes me think of loneliness as a signal, pointing us back towards connection.

But if that were the whole story, that dachshund and my puppy and those children getting their faces licked would be the most connected creatures on earth. And yet they get rejected all the time…and they keep going back for more.

Somewhere along the way in my own world, the fear of rejection became stronger than the drive to connect.

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4.

“I’m just an animal, looking for a home.”
(Talking Heads, This Must Be The Place)

Imagine for a moment that you have reached the last planet in the universe. There is nowhere left to go. No frontier beyond this one. No self-improvement project left to complete. No new shiny promotion. No bigger house. No fantasy dream partner. No rocket ship to Mars.

What would matter to you?

Who would you want beside you?

What would you regret not saying?

What current realities and neuroses would suddenly seem absurd?

My strong suspicion is that most of us wouldn’t spend those final hours listening to a podcast about kegel exercises, or reading a Substack about some guy’s random alien loneliness dreams. We would seek out the people who matter, the people with whom we can truly drop our masks and stop performing. The people we can sit beside and admit that we don’t know what we’re doing, that we’re scared, that we’re lonely, that none of us are getting out of this alive.

So many of my dreams are about trying to find my way home. Searching for a place I can finally rest. But it is dawning on me that the home I am seeking is not made from bricks and mortar. And the thing stopping me from finding it is not a Google Maps malfunction. And the thing stopping me from finding it is not a Google Maps malfunction. It is closer than that. A layer of fear around my heart.

I’ve been listening to the psychologist Rick Hanson talk about what it takes to repair a rupture in a relationship, and he offers an insight I think is powerful: repair only works if you actually want the connection on the other side of it. So often, our mind tells powerful (but mostly untrue) stories about why we don’t want that connection, because the other person is difficult, or the timing is wrong, or this is not my crowd, or I’m too tired to engage. But underneath all of these rationalisations there lies a deeper truth: often the door is open, and, out of fear, I’m choosing not to walk through.

What I am learning is that when I bring loving awareness to that doorway in my heart, when I allow myself to dissolve that fear a little, when I let myself be a tiny bit more dachshund, I am way more likely to find my way home. And yes, I might be rejected. And yes, that hurts. But it's the end of the fucking world, folks, and I for one am tired of standing outside an unlocked door, aching to come home.