REPUBLISHED stories from an old blog site-in no particular order.
Dear Carolynn
I have decided to add blogs I’ve written form the past–partly to keep them on record and also to explore how I, and/or my thoughts have changed, or stayed the same.
This one below I published on my Wobbly Boots Duke blog-site on March 27, 2024, and it is about where I was mentally at that time. I did learn a lot about myself in 2017 after you died, Carolynn, but I went backwards for a few years and this blog was part of my healing to back to where I am now, which is a much better, less lonely and I’ve returned to a more confident and mentally secure place. Mum’s dementia has, as does happen, worsened but life with a different attitude-of-self has, paradoxically become easier.
Author: Mark Bolton
The regular crowd shuffles in
Loneliness is a weird companion, isn’t it? It wraps itself around you like a heavy blanket, suffocating yet oddly comforting in its familiarity. As a 63-year-old who has survived quite a few of life’s heartbreaking losses, I’ve become intimately acquainted with this unwelcome intruder, and I’m confused by its presence.
The irony is that there are millions of lonely people who touch each other everyday, yet they can’t connect.
The Loneliness Metaphor
Lately I have been revisiting Billy Joel’s ‘Piano Man’ album, and, of course the song itself. Released just over 50 years ago, I have only now discovered a meaning in the song that didn’t fully make sense to me at the same time I was at high school.
“They’re sharing a drink called loneliness, but it’s better than drinking alone.”
‘Piano Man’ is a biographical tale set to a waltz, which now runs through my mind as if I’m hearing it for the first time — and it is resonating with the silent struggles that have now become my current existence.
It was the early to mid 70’s, when I was wearing a younger man’s clothes, that I first heard ‘Piano Man’. Written by Billy, who, as the protagonist in this story tells of his experiences playing at an LA bar before he became known to the world. As a teen, I understood the context of the song but I didn’t understand the deeply emotional feelings buried not so deeply in his lyrical observations.
Fifty years later and I now feel as though I have become a reluctant regular at that smokey LA bar Billy wrote about. I’m sitting with Paul, the one time real estate novelist, Davey, who was in the navy as well as John at the bar who knew in his heart that he’d never become a movie star.
*For the record, Paul was in real estate but had a dream to be a successful novelist. Ignoring the context of the story, some critics condemn Billy for this line because of their own inability to think in the context that you can have a job as well as a dream.
Paul, Davey and John might be nice people but I don’t want to be sitting with them. It’s not that I disdain their presence; it’s more that I’ve become a recluse looking for answers they and a bar can’t give me. They aren’t my friends.
In my real world, I have one solitary confidante, but even she is not a constant presence in my life anymore. I’d love us to spend more time together, but complicated circumstances on both sides dictate outcomes.
I feel lost without her regular company but I don’t know how to tell her how lost I feel because I’ve forgotten how to effectively communicate due to loneliness.
But this is just a small divot in a big hole — I’ve forgotten how to communicate with anyone. And, again, the weird irony that stands out like a beacon — I’m alone and standing next to millions of lonely people.
That Dreaded ‘D’ word
Much of my days are spent dealing with the responsibility of caring for my mother who battles dementia. It’s not like there is a mountain of work, but it’s being on call 24/7 that seems to steal so much energy.
Along with Mum’s friend, John, we are the only two reasons she isn’t in care. And as I’ve discovered over the last few years, to keep a dementia sufferer in her/his own home is not a job for the faint hearted. I am the heavy chain that connects to the anchor that keeps our mother in her home and not drifting away an aged care facility. Caring doesn’t take pieces from the carers, it gouges out in chunks.
On the flip side, adversity does highlight the true character of a person — exposing both the weak and strong. Although I’d do this for Mum anyway, I owe her because she was there to hold me up for a long time after Tess was killed — and then when Carolyn died.
“Even rode my motorcycle in the rain” (You May be Right)
Mobility issues too have stripped away the freedom I once took for granted, relegating me to a life confined within the narrow borders of my surroundings. I chose to stop driving, unwilling to risk endangering others on the road due to moments of severe nerve pain. Although I can still walk, my independence has shrunk to the size of a postage stamp, limited by the reach of my mobility trike, a three-wheeled Harley look-a-like that offers some freedom, but at a snail’s pace.
But even this freedom is constrained — left to the mercy of the rain clouds such have been swamping us the last four or five days.
It is during these moments of desolation, the desire to fade away is strong. Yet, I am bound by duty and obligation to Quirky, my Quaker parrot; my friend, and, of course, my Mum, and I will never let any of them down.
As for me, well, it is no surprise I’ve been lost. However, I’m fighting tooth and nail to reclaim my sense of self, clawing my way back from a period of two years when I completely lost me. Yet, with each victory comes the sobering realisation that I found my way back — but there’s nobody here to greet me. Or, at least, that’s how it feels.
“They sit at the bar and put in my jar and say, man, what are you doing here?”
Sometimes I do wonder — what am I doing here? That’s a question that at times echoes inside my head — a reminder of my own misplaced existence.
And so, I find myself at a crossroads, grappling with the weight of my own solitude, chuckling to myself at the neat little paradox of 50 years ago, when songs were telling us that life was about getting out on the highway, driving, riding or thumbing our way towards freedom. Again, a metaphor but it meant something in those days.
I bought into that ‘freedom’ message only to discover that after travelling those 50 years on the highway, I finally reached a destination that is the LA bar where Billy Joel played 50 years ago — and he was telling us that the dream was always a lie.
Yet, somewhere in the depths of my soul, a flicker of hope remains. I am a survivor and fighter — as are many. And so, I press onward, knowing that with each passing day, I am one step closer to again finding me. For in the end, it is not the loneliness that defines me, but the courage to confront it head-on, armed with nothing more than the strength of my own conviction — and sharing it with anyone who cares to read this far.
Also, being honest with myself helps — after all, I kinda got myself here — but hell, what a fantastic ride that highway has been. So, maybe the dream is only half a lie.
“And the piano, it sounds like a carnival, and the microphone smells like a beer.”
So here I am at the bar with Dave, Paul and the barman, John, who is quick with a joke or to light up your smoke, and Billy at the piano in the corner. I think that when Billy finishes this set, I’ll seek out, and escape through the back door. The question is, do I look for a place to settle down? Or do I get back out on that highway?
There is still so much more yet to see but I think I’ve seen enough. It’s time to settle down. We all need to regain trust in ourselves. After all, no matter how far we travel, the shit comes with us until we stop packing it in a bag to take with us. I continue to tell others that I don’t care what they say anymore, this is my life, as well constantly reminding myself that I love me just the way you are.
Thanks, Billy.
UPDATE: A documentary about the life and work of Billy Joel has recently been made and tells of a complicated soul who, despite his global success was never seen as a cool star. My opinion is he is a genius.
Piano Man — Billy Joel
I Love You Just the Way You Are — Billy Joes
My Life — Billy Joel
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