With All The Whistles

I have for a while teetered dangerously on the edge of becoming a maverick Christian. I have somehow bought into the thought that if I hole myself up all alone and believe the company is good, then I can be happy. A happy hermit. I think I began to buy into this in California because I was supported by such great communities. My solitude was offset by the excellent dorm life I enjoyed, and later, by the amazing church family I had. I was like a man who had been given a Ferrari with all the whistles but wanted to trade it in for a Buick. There was no contentment. I thought I could be happy if I was alone.
The problem is that there are no joyful hermits. They are either solemnly and judiciously ensuring their vows stay met, or else they degenerate into cynical scotch-drinkers with a penchant for terrorizing neighborhood children. They simple cannot abide all that happiness happening on their front lawn. Changing one's environment doesn't produce happiness. If you're not content in Alaska, you won't be content in Texas, and that's because you are the problem, not the state. Wherever you go, there you are.
The upshot of being a hermit is that you don't have to deal with other people. The downside is that, if the presence of your own company isn't sufficient, loneliness gets pretty difficult to fend off. It becomes the shadow behind your back, looming larger and larger as your life waxes on. And I have become a bit lonely out here. No church family, no school family, no regular family anywhere near me.
It gets worse. You see, I'm a sucker for Rom-com theology. That "love-will-win-the-day, follow-your-heart, everyone-ends-up-married-and-happy" existential bullhockey. That kind of thinking is no safe retreat for the lonely-hearted. It's taking a shot of whiskey for a knife wound when you what you really need is some bandaging and someone with the know-how to dress it.
The real medicine for heart-hurt is in the Word:
"Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."
"With my voice I cry out to the LORD;
with my voice I plead for mercy to the LORD.
I pour out my complaint before him;
I tell my trouble before him.

When my spirit faints within me,
you know my way!
In the path where I walk
they have hidden a trap for me.
Look to the right and see:
there is none who takes notice of me;
no refuge remains to me;
no one cares for my soul.

I cry to you, O LORD;
I say, "You are my refuge,
my portion in the land of the living."