Eleanor Rigby, where are you?

My last attempt at writing something meaningful, which drew on my real-life experiences, occurred a few years ago in the first four chapters of my fiction book, The Loner.

By the time Chapter 5 came around, it turned into a fiction yarn, a crime drama filled with a robbery, a kidnapping, some shoot-'em-up scenes, a journey to a village in Mexico...and finally, an escape by the hero...and his journey home -- all of which never happened to me in real life.

But in the first four chapters of The Loner, I could have switched the name of the hero, Royce Reirdon, and inserted my name.

In previous posts, I have touched on tough relationships — father-son, mother-daughter, girlfriend-boyfriend. There are all kinds of relationships. Suppose you're one of the lucky ones. In that case, it can be an easy journey from the initial meeting through a lifetime of happiness, followed by a moment decades later when you find yourself sitting by a fireplace, relaxed, eyeing your partner, knowing that you both have succeeded and done your best to get it right.

And then again, human beings have been known to mess up. Some of us board a moving train to nowhere and create a path -- a crooked path that makes little sense...leaving, in their wake, nothing but debris in the rearview mirror -- the images of a once scenic highway, filled with warning signs on both sides of the road labeled: misery, bitterness, and loneliness.

In The Loner, Reirdon is in a hotel room late at night, staring at a picture on a wall -- 

A peaceful image of a place he had never been. Maybe he would like to be in such a place in the future, but at this moment, his thoughts were cluttered as he headed to his hometown for his ex-wife's funeral. Soon, he would be there at the cemetery at the top of the hill with his family -- a group of strangers he had abandoned years ago in his quest for stardom as a TV sports icon who would eventually spend his life comfortably in front of a camera, but uncomfortable and truly alone when he left the stage and turned off the lights.

As we begin our "golden years," some of us have succeeded and reached our life goals, while others have not. Some of us have messed up. Some have not.

 

There are chapters left in our lives. We have made it this far. Those who are searching to get it right still have time. The lonely, too, can survive.

The Beatles addressed loneliness in 1966.

Ah look at all the lonely people
Ah look at all the lonely people

Eleanor Rigby, picks up the rice
In the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window, wearing the face 
That she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

Father McKenzie, writing the words
Of a sermon that no one will hear
No one comes near
Look at him working, darning his socks
In the night when there's nobody there
What does he care

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

Ah look at all the lonely people
Ah look at all the lonely people

Eleanor Rigby, died in the church
And was buried along with her name
Nobody came
Father McKenzie, wiping the dirt
From his hands as he walks from the grave
No one was saved

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

I was never a fan of the Beatles. I found them hard to dance to.

Ascertaining the lyrics to the song "Eleanor Rigby " leaves me with more questions than answers. In the end, the song leaves us loners with some words of wisdom: never give up.

That I can do.