Friendships have balanced and sustained me

Twenty years ago, I founded the men's group, "Pegasus", in Carmel, California. At that time, after letting go of waiting a few years for a spot to open up in another group of men, I chose to assemble a new men's group by inviting ten men whom I respected (some more known to me than others), to join together and meet once a month to share the exercise and experience of being a man, in relationship with one another.

I had come to a place in my own spiritual and social development where I wanted the camaraderie and ongoing support of other men to share the truth of our lives, to further enrich the quality of our lives and our relationships. Most of the men were accomplished persons with their own businesses who had no prior experience with being a part of a men's group. Most of them, upon receiving my invitation, initially insisted that they had no time and little interest in being part of such a group since their businesses or family took up all their time. Many of these men had never before been offered the trust it took to invite consul of any other to share their vulnerabilities, stuck places and their respective ‘shadow-sides’ that limited the quality of all relationships. Well, all of us did come together. In 2006, we named our band of courageous brothers, "Pegasus".

Each month we met for dinner at someone's home. We brought with us a personal response to an assigned subject for discussion. Each would share and receive from the others a response to the sharing that might offer affirmation, but certainly, another perspective. Pegasus, indeed, achieved the bond and benefit that was difficult to imagine when we began.

Twelve years ago, Dagma and I moved away From Carmel to Mendocino. Pegasus continued on without my presence, although I remained included in email communications.

A couple years ago, I was invited to join Pegasus for our 20th anniversary gathering. I was asked to start off the discussion with the assigned subject of 'Friendship'. I started my offering with a quote by author, Anais Nin.

I am not alone––even when I am. Sometimes I forget this and stumble. And I then reach for friendship within.

Friendships with others have been vital to my experience and ongoing transformation.

But while friendships have balanced and sustained me through years of challenges, I have a history of taking periods of alone-time for recovery and realignment. Being alone has always provided me the opportunity to listen; to save myself...to recreate myself. Reestablishing the friendship with myself foundational.

In my teenage years, I would escape troubling times of feeling alone, isolated, or rejected by taking solace in the woods...by myself: long walks in the snow following tracks of wild animals, laying down in sweet lakeside pastures of springtime under an umbrella of a wild grove of lilacs, or running away from home as a lost boy to a hidden shelter, below heavy branches of big pines, to sleep on a bed of autumn leaves...to lay quietly in grief, in hopes of being rescued.

In later years, I'd find myself utilizing periods of solitude in the wilderness to contemplate my relationships, ‘who I am’ and purpose: with walks into Death Valley, up mountains of Colorado, Utah and California, canoeing or sailing the waters of lakes, rivers and oceans. All these periods of solitude proved essential to the course corrections that steered me toward now.

But being alone in solitude is different than being alone in loneliness. Thankfully, my history with loneliness has been minimal and infrequent It’s taken me many years to learn that loneliness is a self-created illusion––thinking myself abandoned or separated––forgetting that, in truth, I’m already intimately connected to everyone I’ve met in my life. I’m in the loving company of others, regardless of the distance of time or place, when I recognize my connection.

I’ve come to accept that having periods of feeling lonely is perfectly natural. And when this occurs, I allow myself to feel it. It’s a sign that my soul is crying out to be rediscovered as the master of my life.

I recall a particular time of enlightenment, when I was in the muck of loneliness, I began singing a love song to myself. I took on the lyrics of a classic love song meant to express love to another and changed the subject of ‘you’ to me, as in “I will always love you.” For a period of time, every love song that came to mind became a reminder that all love songs begin with self-love.