Lonely Tambourines and Loud Thoughts

 

Music’s playing.
Dogs are barking.
My fingers are clicking across the keyboard.

It’s one of those Saturdays—laundry is piled up, a new career and a cubicle are calling, coursework waits in a tab I haven’t opened yet… and still, all I hear is the fan blowing.

I’m deep in my thoughts this morning.

The Weight of the Quiet

The Barista isn’t home, and I can feel it in my bones. The silence hits different without him. Not because we’re overly affectionate—we’re not—but just knowing he’s near grounds me. I never realized how deeply his quiet presence is stitched into my sense of safety.

Last night, Boo Thang shared something heavy—deep struggles, deep loneliness. She’s in another state, no family, no real friends yet… just her, holding her own in the quiet.

And this morning? I'm feeling it too. For her. With her.

Perspective in the Stillness

When your friend hurts, you hurt too. Especially the ones who’ve held you up in ways they’ll never even know. And I realize now: I’ve taken things for granted. My kids in the next room. The hum of home. The Barista’s steady, even silence.

I’m not touchy-feely. That’s not how I love. But I get touch. I get presence. And right now, she doesn’t have that. Not even close.

I think back to a version of my life that I’ve boxed up tightly and shoved somewhere dark. I was a military wife once, alone during a deployment. People warned me not to marry him. They were right. He was a jerk-face. And still, even in that lonely year, I had no clue what it’s like to feel what she’s feeling now.

Different kind of lonely.

And I don’t want to open that box.

When All You Can Do Is Show Up

So here I am, distracted by a terrible song with a tambourine and a woman who thinks she’s Dolly (she’s not), thinking of a friend I can’t fix. I’ve got no advice. No magic answers. Just love. And ears. And hype.

Sometimes I think the only thing I can offer her right now is listening. Letting her speak her truth without trying to compare it to mine. That’s the difference today. I won’t try to relate. I’ll just sit with her in it.

Because what she needs isn’t another story.
She needs to know she’s not alone in the alone.

And for her? I will always show up.

-Beth B. Blissful