The Subtle Art of Loneliness

I've been sitting on this post for a long time now. It's my white whale. Something deeply personal, yet also very common in the world around me.

Growing Up Alone

To add some context: unlike most of my friends or people I've met, I grew up without siblings. Not that being an only child is a bad thing - surely there are advantages, like never having to share your toys or fight for your parents' affection. Some people I know don't get along well with their siblings either, so even if I'd had one, chances are I might still be in a similar position as an adult. The point being, I am no stranger to living alone.

That's not really the kind of loneliness I see in myself or in the greater world out there. But I wanted to preface it to say that I've been trained to enjoy my own company even when there isn't really a need to. That strong feeling of loneliness does come boiling to the top sometimes, and I do miss having someone to lean on.

As a child, I found ways to entertain myself when there wasn't much else to do. Make buildings out of playing cards and run toy cars through them to collapse them? Sure! Make buildings out of audio cassettes and run toy cars through them to collapse them? Hell yes! Hmm, maybe I had too many destructive tendencies and a need to collapse things. Listening to music with my headphones, or eventually, as my dad got me a computer, I found a whole new world to get immersed in.

I only have good memories from my childhood. It's highly unlikely I ever thought of loneliness as a problem back then - too much energy and not enough time. Not to mention, kids are dumb. I know I definitely was. And the cherry on top? I was a shy kid. It wasn't hard to make friends, but if I met new people, I immediately wanted to impress them and hope they'd want to be my friend.

Solitude as an Adult

I recently saw a video where a man spoke about how if you're still single past 40, you finally start accepting and truly enjoying your own company. Adding someone else to your life becomes difficult because the rhythm you've built for yourself, the quiet moments you enjoy, the things you prefer to do - they bring you more joy than the thought of adding a stranger to your life and having to readjust or give up things. While I don't entirely believe that, I can say that yes, even as an adult, I enjoy my time alone and doing things that bring me joy.

In my free time, I indulge in hobbies or step out to take part in activities in a vibrant city full of culture and history. I go when it suits me, I come back when it suits me. I do things that others would roll their eyes at. Did I have lunch on time? Who cares? There is chaos, but in a structured way - an antithesis of the concept itself.

It is a unique kind of freedom where you're not answerable to anyone but yourself, not beholden to do things because someone else wants to. This is also the root cause of loneliness. Sometimes, there is a longing to have someone share your life and your important moments, to be seen and heard, and to see and hear someone else going through their own personal moments.

I feel it from time to time. It's a strange emotion that's truly hard to put into words. Sometimes it feels shallow - do I really want someone as a witness, or am I truly willing to share my full life with someone else? If I've done something that no one else has seen, does it still hold value that I'm doing it? But sometimes it's an ache, the need to have someone around you.

The Hermit Phase

I want to make it clear that I have a ton of amazing friends who have been there for me and heard me, helped me - even when I may have been dismissive of them and their suggestions. Friends who truly care. It is something I'm grateful for, and I cherish them.

In contrast, I also go through hermit phases where I rarely see my friends or willingly make plans to be around people. Maybe it's a form of depression, or just me being contrarian about what I truly want.

Maybe a lot of it is an evolutionary response. We are, after all, social creatures. When I was in therapy several years ago, a recurrent theme of my discussions usually involved my therapist telling me to step out and meet people face-to-face. Not online, which was my preferred mode of communication during my hermit era. I can't deny that it helped. I had to take a few steps, and while I was slow about many of them, eventually I got to where I wanted to be.

Not Alone in This

Without making sweeping social commentary, it seems I may not be alone in feeling this way. As we advance technologically, we also tend to contract inward. While the world is a smaller place than it used to be, it also feels unnecessarily larger in my local space. The inertia is greater. To truly meet new people and connect, you need to open yourself up completely, and this seems a greater challenge than it used to be.

I don't dislike the life I live. In fact, I feel a sense of comfort and warmth with who I am. But I'm also willing to accept that living alone is possibly what my future is. Maybe it is a little scary. But whatever path I end up taking, what guarantee is there of being completely safe? The idea that any choice guarantees safety - that's the lie I don't want to live. If I am alone, fine. If I find someone, that's fine too.

Being open and honest with myself is how I plan to move forward.