The Lonely Things I Choose

I was playing pool with my BFF today when I had a quiet little epiphany: I get lonely sometimes. But I’ve also gotten really picky about who’s allowed in my life. In other words, I’ve cut most people out… and now I’m complaining about being lonely. Which, if we’re being honest, makes me a bit of a goddamned hypocrite.

I get lonely, and then I keep choosing lonely things.

I think it started when I came out.

Yeah, yeah. I’m going there. But not how you think.

Coming out wasn’t some brave political stand. It wasn’t theatrical. It was survival. The choice was to live or die, and I chose to live. Instinctively.

And almost overnight, about ninety-eight percent of my “friends” disappeared.

Daily lunch invites turned into silence. After-work drinks turned into “maybe next month.” I told myself that this was proof those people were never really friends, and I stand by that. Why would I want to spend time with someone who doesn’t want to spend time with me?

But something else happened.

After my brushes with death, I got even pickier. I couldn’t do superficial anymore. I couldn’t do lopsided friendships. I couldn’t do drinking-for-the-sake-of-drinking. I couldn’t do hanging just to avoid being alone.

I like smart people. Introspective people. Emotionally intelligent people. People who’ve faced their demons and come out bloodied but swinging. And that narrows the field. A lot.

Now look at my life. What dominates it?

Riding. Writing. Leading.

I ride a lot. You’ve heard me say it, it lights something up in my soul. It completes me in a way almost nothing else does. And I will not give it up willingly. But riding is solitary. It’s me, my thoughts, the wind… and torque. Can’t forget torque.

I don’t want a passenger. Especially not after the accident. When I ride, I want control. I want quiet. I want the dialogue in my own head without interruption.

And sometimes I wonder… is part of it running?

Maybe.

Maybe I’m fleeing certain kinds of closeness. Maybe I’m protecting myself. I don’t know.

Then there’s writing. Writing demands isolation. Head down. Fingers moving. Brain somewhere between memory and imagination. Writing is lonely by design.

But it’s also legacy. This isn’t a hobby for me. It’s the thing I’m building. It’s the mark I want to leave. Life already reminded me that time isn’t guaranteed. When the reaper taps you on the shoulder, you stop pretending you’ve got forever. So I write.

And then there’s leadership.

And make no mistake: for me, it’s a need. I didn’t chase title. I didn’t chase money. I chased impact. I chased responsibility. I chased the feeling that what I do matters beyond my own skin.

Life knocked me flat, bloodied my lips, and then basically said, “Get up and do something useful.”

So I did.

I lead. I write. I ride.

All three require energy. Attention. Focus. Solitude. So yeah, I get lonely sometimes.

But here’s the part I’ve realized today, cue stick in hand: If I choose to spend time with you, coffee, lunch, a conversation that lasts longer than it has to, that time is not casual. It’s deliberate. It’s carved out of something I guard fiercely.

You’re getting a slice of me that I don’t hand out lightly.

You are not filler.

You are chosen.