From Loneliness to Nowness
There was a time when I believed I was comfortable being alone. I told myself I enjoyed solitude—no noisy interruptions, no obligations—just me and my thoughts. But over time, I began to realize something important: I was never truly alone. My mind was always busy with constant companions—books, social media, TV shows, and even the gentle hum of the world around me. In truth, I had never really sat with my stillness. I had never faced the unknown.
Then, one day, all of that was taken away. Suddenly, there was no future to dream of, no past to dwell on, no distractions to fill the time. It felt like I had been dropped into the middle of a desert—nothing but me and the vastness of the present moment. This stillness unnerved me. It wasn’t the thought of physical isolation or loneliness that scared me, but the feeling of being untethered—nothing familiar to grasp, just the “nowness” of life.
Loneliness and the unknown are often mistaken for one another, but they’re vastly different. Loneliness is a familiar ache—the longing for connection, the sense of being unseen or unheard. The unknown, though, is something else entirely. It’s a space where time stands still, where you’re left with nothing but the present moment, free from the past or future.
I used to think I had conquered the fear of being alone, but in reality, I was avoiding something deeper—the fear of the unknown. It wasn’t the lack of company that unsettled me, but the stillness, the openness, the quiet where my usual distractions couldn’t follow.
I remember the day I found myself stripped of all the usual noise. No deadlines, no friends to meet, no shows to binge-watch—just silence. It was as though I had finally arrived in that desert I had always feared. At first, I panicked. I paced the room, my heart racing, searching for something to hold onto. But there was nothing: just me and the present moment.
It took months, maybe, for me to stop resisting the stillness. Slowly, I began to see it not as a threat but as a gift. I started to experience the world like a child—open, curious, and unburdened by expectations. The unknown, which had once seemed so frightening, began to feel like an exciting mystery. What I had been running from all this time wasn’t emptiness but an invitation to live fully in the present. And with that realisation, I started to feel something new, something genuine.
I remember watching a child play in the park one day. She didn’t care what anyone thought, or what she’d do later, or even what games she’d play tomorrow. She was absorbed in the moment, lost in the joy of now. There was a freedom in her that struck me. She wasn’t afraid of being alone, nor was she anxious about what came next. She simply trusted the moment.
Watching her, I realized that this was what I had been missing. I had been so preoccupied with filling my life with plans and activities that I had forgotten how to be present—how to truly embrace the unknown. When I let go of the need to control every moment, I found that life could be much like the way that child played: filled with curiosity and wonder, unburdened by the future.
Now, when I wake up each morning, I try to approach the day with that same openness. I don’t know what will happen, but instead of letting that uncertainty scare me, I’ve learned to welcome it. What will the day bring? What does life have in store for me today? I’ve discovered that the present moment is not something to fear butto experience fully.
In embracing the unknown, I’ve found a sense of peace I never thought possible. The fear of being alone has been replaced by gratitude for the stillness that allows me to connect more deeply with myself and with life. There are still moments when the quiet feels overwhelming, but when that happens, I think back to that child in the park—how she trusted the moment without needing to know what came next. And like her, I now look forward to each day with a sense of wonder, trusting that life will guide me through the unknown in its mysterious way.
In the stillness, I found not emptiness but an invitation—a chance to rediscover myself, moment by moment. Perhaps the unknown is not a void after all, but a path leading us back to the present, where life is waiting.