I was listening to Fire and Rain by James Taylor the other day, and two lines grabbed me and wouldn’t let go:
“I’ve seen lonely times when I could not find a friend,”
“but I’ve always thought I’d see you again.”
The older I get, the more I realize that’s not just a lyric. That’s real life.
And I’ll say this straight. I’ve had a great life. Honestly, a near-perfect life in a lot of ways. I’ve been blessed more than I deserve. I’ve had love, family, good friends, and a lot of good days. I’m not writing this from a place of complaint. I’m writing it from a place of gratitude.
But even a near-perfect life has lonely moments.
Not because you don’t have friends. I do. But sometimes you’re carrying a feeling that nobody can quite step into with you, even if they want to. There are days when you’re surrounded by friends, laughing and talking, and everything looks fine, but inside you’re wrestling with something you can’t fully explain.
And I want to say this clearly: it has nothing to do with depression. I don’t think I’ve ever been depressed a day in my life. This is nostalgia. It’s that ache you get when you miss the way life used to feel, and you miss the people and the days that helped shape you into who you are.
I think that’s the kind of lonely James Taylor was talking about. Not being alone, but feeling like nobody quite understands what you’re carrying in that moment.
Then comes that second line:
“but I’ve always thought I’d see you again.”
That one cuts deep.
Because we all have someone we thought we’d see again. Somebody we figured we’d run into down the road. Somebody we meant to call back when things slowed down. Somebody we assumed would still be there because, in our minds, there was always going to be more time.
A lot of last times don’t feel like last times.
The last conversation is just a conversation.
The last laugh is just a laugh.
The last wave is just a wave.
And then one day you realize that was it.
Sometimes I’m not lonely for today. I’m lonely for the past. For the days of my youth when folks were always there. For the days when certain people were still “out there somewhere.” For the time when a familiar voice could still show up on the other end of the line. For places and seasons of life that are gone now, even though they still feel close enough to touch when a song comes on.
That’s the strange thing about getting older. You can be happy. You can be thankful. You can have a life you’re proud of, and still have lonely days. And then, out of nowhere, a memory can hit you so hard you have to stop and take a breath before you keep going.
Maybe that’s why those lines stick.
“I’ve seen lonely times when I could not find a friend,” and “I’ve always thought I’d see you again.” If you’ve ever felt both of those at once, you’re not alone. That’s just what it means to love people and to remember.