There’s a stigma against solitude and — believe me — I can see why. The old man eating alone in the diner, the guy sitting alone at the movie theaters, the one awkward sober girl at the party (me) — all depictions of loneliness, people who would love to have company and simply can’t. The kid in the news who committed suicide: had no friends. The other kid in the news who went on a shooting rampage (before committing suicide): had no friends. We are alone and looking around tentatively during a social event for less than ten seconds before some kind soul comes up and asks us why we’re standing there all by ourselves.
It’s true, we’ve all been saved from awkward lonely times by a kind soul. Some of us want company. Sometimes I have a very real fear that my friends are better off without me and at those times there’s nothing that I want more than validation that no, I’m not alone and a complete waste of space. I can understand that.
I also know what it’s like to be at a party surrounded by friends whom I know and like and appreciate, or in my house with my family whom I love with every fiber of my being, or anywhere with people who are more than willing to be there for me, and still feel so incredibly lonely. No one’s consolation or reassurances or any amount of Facebook likes can do anything for me at that moment. I don’t think this makes me special, and I know that all of us have probably felt that way before.
People are great, yes. I love constantly interacting with people and learning from them and the people in my life are the reason I am so blessed. However, while people can teach us about ourselves, we become ourselves in solitude. An hour in piano lessons is useless without the countless hours of practice alone. Other people can inspire, but creative outlets are explored by oneself, unfiltered and untainted by someone looking over your shoulder making you feel that you should do a certain thing a certain way.However, being lonely is different from being alone. It is so amazingly different I can’t even explain how different it is, but I will try because ~persistence~ and because everyone needs to know if they don’t already know and everyone needs to seriously identify which one is which because it will change their lives.
In company who is to stop you from the questions in the back of your head: “What are they thinking of me right now? Am I impressing them? Am I living up to their expectations?” Perhaps being alone leads to different questions, questions that matter a bit more. “What do I think of myself? Am I impressing myself? Am I living up to my expectations?”
The best writing in my limited writing experience was done alone at night, while no one else in the house was awake. I’ve learned so much more about the people I know when I’m away from them and can reflect on who they are, who I am, and what they mean to me. I learned of love’s austere and lonely offices in complete, beautiful solitude.* Though it may just come off as a strong case for introversion, don’t we all learn to write, paint, run, catch, pass, think, exist on our own, or in a state of concentration that emulates solitude? Some things deserve undivided attention, and sometimes we deserve undivided attention from ourselves.
It’s almost an art, I swear, to learn to love spending time by yourself. At first it’s scary. Are you weird? Don’t you have friends? Do you have to think about things you suppress and avoid when you have the distraction of other people?
And then one day it happens. You’re sitting by yourself — maybe in your room, maybe having a meal at a restaurant, maybe driving to the grocery store — and you realize that you know a tad bit more about yourself and the world than when you sat down. You’ve learned something, and you didn’t need anyone else to teach it to you, and whatever you take away from that moment is wholly and utterly yours. If that doesn’t deserve a pat on the back, I don’t know what does.
* “What did I know, what did I know/of love’s austere and lonely offices?” — Robert Hayden, Those Winter Sundays
ViVien Bui 