We're All Lonely

According to Meyers-Briggs, I am an extrovert.

On paper this means that I converse easily with strangers and make connections easily.
In the eyes of the world, this means I have piles of friends and never have to worry about being lonely.

I have been, at times, annoyed by the increasing amount of articles expressing the needs and habits of introverts. There was something bugging me about the idea that they were the odd ones out in a world of "normal" people. However, after a conversation with a wonderful introvert who informed me that the internet is simply an easier platform to express the feeling, I began to see the pattern in every article:

I'm lonely. Please try to understand me.
I'm lonely. Please tell me I'm special.
I'm lonely. Please show me I'm worth something.

And that cry, in all its simple pain, is not reserved for one personality type.

Let me clear up a misconception: extroverts don't always have it easy either. I have struggled with loneliness in my own life. But it's not reserved to only me.

I would be willing to bet that every single person has felt lonely at some point in their life. And just at the moment you think you've found someone to cure that, the relationship changes, and it's difficult again. Why?

It would be so much easier to have other people exactly like ourselves, and then we could just be comfortable for the rest of our lives being exactly what we were 10 years ago and exactly what we'll be in 20 years.
But that's not how we were designed.
We were designed to complete each other, not just approve of each other. It's what makes us grow, what smooths out our rough edges. A little loneliness goes a long way in pushing us to pursue.

I used to be on the lookout for the person who would "get" me completely - share all my thoughts and opinions and understand all my moods and idiosyncrasies. Then I discovered this Proverb: "Each heart knows its own bitterness, and no one else can share its joy."
While some may find that utterly depressing, I found it incredibly freeing. I didn't have to look for that person anymore, I didn't have to feel as if I was missing out on a friendship somewhere. No, I'm never going to find that person. Because they don't exist. Because if such a person existed, I would no longer be unique.

In essence, it's okay to feel lonely.

Because we all are.

No one is exempt from feeling like the odd one out, whether on the edge of the room all alone, or standing in the middle of a crowd surrounded by people who have no clue who the real you is.
We're all looking.
We all want to be loved.
We all need to be pursued.

But what if all this "understand how we're different" actually perpetuates the problem? Shouldn't we be focusing on where we're the same?
We all have a skeleton (or two) hanging in the closet.
We all want inside jokes and pizza night traditions and knowing looks.
Maybe loneliness is simply the first step, laying the path to begin that "Yeah, I know... me too" conversation with your future best friend five years from now.

We're made to be together.
But oddly, loneliness is often what gets us together in the first place.

And so it drives us to pursue others. To thrill when someone has an "aha" moment as we're explaining ourselves. To keep running after the other pieces of ourselves that are scattered across the globe, hidden in souls of all variety and ages. To not give up the dream of wholeness, but to instead pick up our battered hearts and say, "I will be vulnerable again."

Loneliness, in a way, is the only thing that keeps community alive.

Personality types are a wonderful way to get to know someone. But please, use it as a way to get to know someone, not as an excuse to think you already know them.
Maybe then we'll get the chance to turn all this loneliness into friendship.