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I had just left work Friday afternoon when I noticed clouds gathering to the west. The sun was about 20 minutes from sinking beneath the horizon, so I thought there might be a good sunset. I made a detour to the top of Shades Mountain and found a perfect spot from which to watch a glorious sunset.

Afterwards, I went straight to dinner. I looked through my photos and picked the one I liked best. As I sat there looking at a full-screen copy of the shot, I wanted to share it with someone. It wasn’t out of pride about my work. The desire came from excitement about the beauty of what I’d just experienced.

And there was nobody who I wanted to share with. That made me feel very much alone.

In that moment, I realized in a painful way how much I miss having a partner with whom to share the routine details of daily life. I miss having someone who wants to hear what happened in my day — and I miss listening to the mundane thoughts and experiences of a woman I love.

If you don’t love someone, listening to such things is a chore. If you do love someone, it’s a privilege.

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For years, I assumed everybody felt the way I did. I wasn’t even quite conscious of the need for a long time. It was just a vague hunger that I felt — more strongly with an occasional person — to be understood.

When I could finally put it into words, I realized that I often felt invisible. I didn’t feel understood. I didn’t feel that anyone saw my worth in the ways I needed it to be seen. I didn’t need for everyone to see me and to understand me. But from certain people — who rarely came along — I craved something which was hard to put into words.

I wanted love. Acceptance. To be seen. To be understood. I wanted for someone who I saw as my equal to be able to see me in the same way.

I eventually discovered this isn’t a universal need. Most people don’t seem to care that much about being understood. And after a lot of reading and therapy and thinking, I finally realized that my fierce need was related to a very old abandonment wound.

I wasn’t even aware the wound was there, but it was changing the relationships I cared about the most.

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When U.S. troops invaded Iraq and Afghanistan, I eagerly watched every move. The airstrikes and explosions were exciting. The constant updates on progress were addictive. For the first time in history, a person on the other side of the world could sit at home and watch people being killed on live television.

I can’t tell you now why I watched. There was nothing I could do about what was going on. The information was useless to me. Even if something I saw changed my mind about anything, what was I going to do about it?

I’m thinking about that today as Russian troops invade Ukraine. I’m not watching, but almost everybody I know is glued to the coverage of this bloody and outrageous invasion. Why are they watching? Because they’ve been brainwashed to believe responsible people “stay informed.”

The truth is that wars have become entertainment. All “news” is now entertainment and political theater. I’ve learned not to waste my time and attention on things I can’t control — and I hope you will learn this lesson which it took me way too long to learn.

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