The lonely chapter
Lessons in peace, acceptance, and deliverance.
“Loneliness is the poverty of self; solitude is the richness of self.” — May Sarton
On a recent journey to the coast, I travelled deeper into my mind, puzzling over the pieces of my life, about how they’ve been disassembled, and how they’re being reassembled.
I feel a profound sense of loneliness at the moment.
I lament the friendships I am loving and losing, and fret over the growing gulf in ambition or general decency that leaves me unable to relate to them. Or even worse (and this is a very real admission) I feel I am beginning to resent my brothers for the life they are wasting.
I am madly, wildly in love, but my partner lives in another country, and has just moved even further away. The bond we share is undeniable, but knowing how sweet a shared bed is makes returning to rainy England all the more sour.
My parents are on a weird vibe at the moment, and we are all dancing around it. They seem to feel contempt towards me that leaves us all unable to speak when we share space with each other.
Friends, family and partner, all out of sync and without clear resolution. A labyrinth wandered by a soul who isn’t sure he is lost.
God said “Don’t ask me if I’m talking to you. I talk to everyone, all the time. The real question should be ‘Who is listening?”
- Conversations with God by Neale Donald Walsch
There is something hypnotic and freeing about rural roads and vast golden wheatfields. Something rhythmic about the changes in gear, the chatter of a podcast, the comforting, constant chill of the AC.
I changed up a gear, absent mindedly feeling my truck pick up speed, and as I floated over the blurred tarmac I encountered the first of a number of wonderfully time coincidences; heaven-sent waypoints providing much-needed clarity in a confusing time.
As the emotional ache began to bite, and I began to bite my nails, the podcast began answering my first question.
Why do I feel so alone? Is it okay to feel alone, if my life is going well?
Chris Williamson began talking about the lonely chapter, a concept defined by Alex Hormozi, that dictates that as your life goes through a period of transformative change, you are bound to leave connections behind that you once considered sacrosanct, because they no longer serve the life you are trying to build.
I am growing in a multitude of ways at the moment. I am living healthier, drinking less, gyming more, working on my mental health, learning about and focusing on my love, and living with a highly disciplined and rewarding routine, and all of these things are bringing me immense peace. Yet my social group, the one that drank heavily, did drugs every weekend, didn’t exercise, didn’t build, didn’t progress, didn’t improve, was a huge part of my life for ten years.
So whilst I feel peace in the progress, there is a sense of loss that the people I loved (and still love) are not on this journey with me. Indeed it necessitates that I go it alone, and the disconnection I feel is actually vital in order to reach my own peace. The idea that this is the lonely chapter, and that it’s okay to turn inwards for a period in order to fight and conquer my own demons, is something I surrender to.
God answered my second question. Or rather the angel he sent, my partner, did.
Another worry swirling through my mind like a current in the floodwater was about how much alcohol I’d consume on a stag do that coming weekend. This was the first intruder in my monk-mode, an unwelcome knock on the door of the temple I’m putting the finishing touches to. The first call to temptation. And I really didn’t want to ruin it with endless beer – the classic call of the best man.
I voiced this to 😇, who as ever was patient and understanding in her listening. I arrived at my meeting and it went well, and I turn my phone back on to pictures of her bible, with a multitude of lines highlighted.
All of which reflected on the idea that it is not correct for man to judge another man for what he eats (or in this case, drinks). And so I should tell my friend (the stag) that I really don’t want to drink heavily, because my mental and physical health are sacrosanct. And in the spirit of brotherhood, he listened, and understand. We drank anyway, but I went home early each night, and I felt good for it. This underlines another lesson in self-assurance that independent thought and movement has given me; that I am able to act in my own way, free from social pressure.
The third answer came to me on that very stag do.
A few pints in with the father of the groom, who I’ve known for years, and the undercurrent of alcohol had me at a comfortable, social, and open level. I told him I admired the bond he had with his son, the comfort and ease at which they interacted, the support they provide each other, and the regular time they spent together. I explained that I feel distant from my father, as does he from me, and that I’m not sure how to repair it.
He is a wise and understanding man, and his advice was resonant;
‘You are a man now too. You don’t have to wait for your dad to fix things. You can take the lead, and repair it yourself.’
This was powerful and perfect. Growing up, my dad fixed everything. He led the family, stated the expectations, taught the lessons, and imparted the discipline. I guess I had been waiting for him to do that in this situation too – and in that waiting we had continued to drift.
But my friend’s father reminded me that I’m no longer a child waiting for dad to pick him up, but instead a man of my own standing. Capable of opening the emotional toolbox and repairing what needs to be repaired. And I have set about to fix what needs to be fixed, of my own volition.
I’m on a journey, perhaps the greatest and most important journey of self-fulfilment I will take in my life (you can read my 2026 manifesto here). I’m addressing issues I’ve faced for years, and that necessitates a noble form of solitude.
It’s encouraging to realise that the profound sense of loneliness is not a negative thing.
In fixing these issues I’ve encountered new and unexpected challenges, but as I’ve pondered them, I continue to be sent signs from above that I’m equal to those too. I must remember the lessons I am learning, and remain resolute in my climb up the mountain to peace, progress and power.
I am proud of who I am becoming. I am comfortable with the space I’ve made to grow.
I am grateful for the prescient lessons I have been given,
that remind me of the richness of myself.