A friend told me she feels lonely – while she’s with me. I’m literally sitting right in front of her, talking to her, and she’s telling me she feels alone.

It stings when somebody denies your existence. I don’t know how to be “more there”. I started marching around the room, banging on a metal pot with a wooden spoon. I belched a couple of times. With a purple crayon I wrote, “I am here!” on the wall in five inch letters.

“I’m still lonely,” she explained.

I’m a fairly confident person. My self assuredness rests on the foundational idea that when I am in a room with another person, that person is not alone. I’ve always believed myself capable of making up one half of a couple. That doesn’t require training or special skills. I’ve taken it for granted. My friend’s loneliness rattled my confidence.

Apparently, I don’t count as “someone else in the room”. I can stand right next to people while they’re all by themselves. This revelation made me feel pretty lonely.

But not for long. Because I don’t trust feelings.

You cannot trust your feelings but you can trust a fart. Whenever you’re lonely, find a group of people, preferably in an enclosed space. Pass gas, preferably audibly. The other people will react. You can trust their reactions. You are not alone. The community affirms your membership with their grimaces, groans, and gags.

Loneliness is curable. You can confirm the presence of other people in the time it takes to digest a bean burrito. The question is, do you want to be cured? Sometimes, I think you enjoy your loneliness. You like when other people feel bad for you. You enjoy being the center of attention. That’s not loneliness. It’s selfishness.

Selfishness is curable too. But not until you take ownership of it. As long as you’re blaming me for how you feel – you’re on your own.