Field Notes of a Wanderer

Dear Wanderer,

Loneliness has a way of pulling at us, like gravity, drawing us into orbits that don’t nourish but constrain. I’ve seen it far too often—people tethering themselves to relationships not out of love, but out of fear. Fear of the silence. Fear of what the empty spaces might ask of them.

I’ve been married twice—ten years in the first, and now, eighteen years in the second. And here I stand, asking questions that have taken root deep within me. Eighteen years is a lifetime of days strung together by a thread that feels fragile, worn thin by the weight of existing but not quite living.

There is love here, yes, but it is a quiet love, a friendship love. It is a love that coexists in the same space, but rarely meets me where I need to be met. It is a marriage of distance. A marriage where one partner is content to live passively in the shadows, to let life pass by without easing the weight the other carries.

I have never felt fully protected. I have never felt seen in the way my soul longs to be seen, or carried in the way love is meant to carry. I have never felt my soul had a true place to land. Instead, I’ve built a life of endurance, of consistency, where the years keep accumulating, and yet the questions remain unanswered.

At 52, I find myself wondering if this is the life I want for the next 18 years. A life where the only thing that grows is time. Is this what God intended? A love that sustains the day-to-day but never nourishes the heart? A relationship built on existing, not thriving?

I’ve been labeled many things for — refusing to settle, for turning away from relationships that didn’t feel right. But I will not apologize for protecting my heart. I will not apologize for asking more of love, for expecting it to offer a sanctuary, a place where my soul can breathe.

This is what I tell my daughters: The greatest betrayal is not what another person does to you. It is the betrayal of your own heart. It is ignoring that sacred whisper that says, This isn’t enough. This isn’t what you were made for. It is silencing the voice of your intuition, which knows when something is not right.

When we settle, we betray ourselves. We chip away at the foundation of who we are, becoming smaller, quieter, less alive. But when we listen—when we trust the wild, sacred wisdom of our hearts—we create space for something greater. Something truer.

Do not betray yourself. Let loneliness teach you, not trap you. Let the empty spaces become sacred places where you learn what it means to live fully. And if the years ahead are meant to be shared, let it be with someone who protects and nurtures your soul, who meets you with respect and reverence, who doesn’t just coexist but truly sees you.

This is how we honor the heart: by listening to it. By trusting that God’s plan for love is not only one of endurance, but also one of abundance. By refusing to settle for anything less than what is whole, alive, and true. And by daring to believe, even now, that there is more waiting for us—if only we are brave enough to claim it.

🕊️ Chrysi

©️ 2024 Christina Whalen