Lonely, But Not Lost

21 Feb 2026

Today was a good day.

I found two end stands for the spare bedroom.
Started stripping them down.
They’re mid-process — half raw wood, half old finish.
A little messy. A little hopeful.

The house is quiet.

It’s me.
Cannoli.
And the grand-kitties — Moona and Bjorn — weaving in and out like soft little shadows.

The kids are in Vegas.
Britt is somewhere on the open road in a van with her two childhood friend, chasing scenery and memories and that van-life kind of freedom.

And here I am.

At home.
Eating a home-cooked meal.
Drinking homemade sangria.

Lonely.

But not sad.

There’s a difference.

Lonely doesn’t mean broken.
Lonely doesn’t mean I regret my life.

Lonely just means…

I’m wondering.

Where do I go next?
And how do I get there?

I want connection.

I want someone to share this sangria with.
Someone to laugh with.
Someone who would sit across from me at this table and say,
“Tell me about your day.”

But I also don’t want noise.
I don’t want chaos.
I don’t want to shrink or armor up or overperform.

I’ve done that version.

Tonight, I’m comfortable.
The animals are near.
The food is warm.
The house feels safe.

And yet… there’s a quiet space beside me.

That space isn’t grief.

It’s possibility.

I’m not in survival mode anymore.
I’m not rebuilding from wreckage.
But I’m not fully standing in what’s next either.

This is the middle.
The sanding stage.
The half-stripped furniture.
The life-between-lives.

It’s peaceful.
And it’s a little lonely.

Both can be true.

So where do I go next?

Maybe the better question isn’t where.

Maybe it’s:

Who do I want to be when I get there?

Do I want to be the woman who waits?
The woman who hides in comfort?
Or the woman who gently steps toward something new — even if it’s awkward at first?

Maybe it starts small.

A class.
A hike group.
A coffee invitation.
A yes instead of a “maybe next time.”

Not because I’m desperate.

But because I’m ready.

Tonight I’ll finish my sangria.
Cannoli will curl up.
Moona will claim a chair like she owns the place.
Bjorn will stare at something invisible.

And I will sit here — not sad, not broken — just aware.

Aware that my life is stable.
Aware that my heart still wants more.
Aware that the next chapter doesn’t knock on the door.

You open it.

Spotify Pairing:
“Vienna” – Billy Joel

Vienna • Billy Joel

Journal Prompts:
• What kind of connection do I actually want — not just activity?
• What feels like a safe, small step toward that?
• Am I protecting my peace, or avoiding vulnerability?

All my love,

Stacey