Loneliness. When I picked up a book of sermons addressing pastoral care issues, I expected thoughts on illness and loss, how to cope with unexpected shifts in life's direction. Maybe these will come, but the first two talked about loneliness.

I know that isolation is an issue for older seniors living alone. They may have family who call everyday or a phone buddy who checks in on them, but there can be days when that is the only human contact they have. If their mobility is compromised, they can't get to bridge games or the clubs they've always been part of. In winter, even a relatively mobile person can get shut in for days. While most don't want to leave the independence of home, the one thing that retirement living offers is company.

Loneliness also sets in for the young mom, or dad if he is the primary caregiver, who is home with a new baby. If there is already a toddler, the day is really busy, and the house is only quiet if both nap at the same time, but there can be isolation, especially living in the country. Getting the kids up for a walk is healthy, but waving at passing cars is not contact. There are parent and tot groups and parks to play in, places to meet others. But the day one child is sick and the family stays home, awareness of isolation can be sharp.

Some adults live alone, sometimes by choice, and they have to work at ensuring they make connections with friends and colleagues. Finding people who stimulate their thinking or make them laugh is important. Fitting in time with them can be difficult, leading to feelings of disconnection.

There are people who have a hard time making connections. Some are shy. Some awkward. Some with a disability. These folks don't reach out easily, and the community feels awkward around them, walking past without even a glance. Knowing what to say or how to reach out can be difficult, but refusing to increases the isolation of someone who needs to be recognized, acknowledged, connected.

These shapes of loneliness I am aware of. They are circumstances that the community can find ways to address as individuals but also with structures of support.

But in that book, both men who experienced loneliness had families. Both worked as ministers. What they meant by loneliness was not what I am used to. One was focussed on learning to acknowledge vulnerability. The other focussed on how we protect ourselves when challenged to "let go" and change, thus pushing others away from ourselves. Both claimed that inauthenticity isolates our true selves from others.

There are things that are hard to talk about. When something is unsaid in a conversation, we may well walk away feeling that we did not make a connection. If what we didn't say is something hard to live with, we may feel isolated, alone in our pain.

Different people know different things about us. We talk about different things with different people. No one knows the whole of who we are. We don't even know the whole of ourselves. Some people know things about us that we don't recognize, and some things are buried deep. It is those buried things that can keep us away from other people and not whole in our own skin.

I also think that in our modern time, it is hard to be aware of our place in the world. Living in the city, seeing only squirrels and pigeons and household pets, we lose a sense of the vast array of creatures who share the air and water with us. Living in the country, we have constant reminders of the life of mouse and fox. But living away from an urban centre, we are disconnected from people who are poor. We are also disconnected from industrial complexes, the work that produces all the stuff we use.

We can know more about our place in society. We can take a holiday at the cottage. We can go to town with open eyes and notice the dynamics of city life. Intentional awareness can help ground us in the web of connection we are part of.

Loneliness is painful. There are things we can do to help ourselves when we are lonely. But there are also patterns and structures we need in our community to nurture connection.

Cathy Hird lives on the shore of Georgian Bay.