On Being Alone (And Sort Of Preferring It Sometimes Kind of)
Warning: This blog contains almost no references to burritos, and instead talks about like, real feelings and stuff. I know that the internet doesn’t LIKE feelings, so feel free to skip this little entry and carry on. I’m sure I’ll have something self-deprecating, or like, a Youtube video, or something like that soon. If you’re still with me--feel free to start up a dialogue about this stuff, because I actually find it genuinely interesting.
Like any good mess of a 23 year old, I really like to start things like blogs, and then completely forget about them until I’m feeling existential after midnight. Alas, here I am, blog. I know like four of you actually read this thing (Hey, Alex,) but lately I have found myself with lots of thoughts that I feel like I need to wrestle with a bit.
As long as I’ve known myself, I love being around people. I love my friends. I thoroughly enjoyed being in a relationship. It’s nice to have someone around at times when you need them, and even when you don’t. Throughout college, I spent most of my time surrounded by friends until the wee hours of the morning talking about our dreams and problems like we weren’t walking cliches, and I loved every second.
Then I moved to New York, and very quickly I had to learn how to be my own person. For a year now, I’ve woken up, made breakfast, drank my coffee, put on music, and spent my mornings in total solitude--well, at least as much solitude as you can get living in New York City with three roommates--and despite it taking some time, I’ve truly begun to love the time I spend with myself. I’ve always been a rather reflective person, and I’ve learned to love the little moments of quiet--a sleepy train car, a lunch spent staring out a window, killing time in Bryant Park between auditions--the moments that allow you to take a second and process all of the life that’s happening around you.
One of my favorite things ever made is the video “How to Be Alone.”
It came into my life before I knew I needed it, and its something I think about often--truly beautiful words, like: “Lonely is a freedom that breathes easy and weightless, and lonely is healing if you make it.” For a long time I really tried to understand and accept those words, and somewhere along the way, I really do think I’ve embraced the person I am when no one else is around.
And so as I’ve learned to kind of like hanging with myself and this weird little life I’ve made, of course, a new problem arises: how to NOT be alone.
Long story short--is it possible to get too good at being alone? Sleeping next to someone isn’t quite as easy as it used to be. I get stressed having someone around all the time--even when I really do like the person. When I don’t get my ample time to process, reflect, whatever--I get defensive and angry, and I lash out. It’s a weird new version of myself, and I don’t really like it that much. I assume this is what many a love-song refer to as “walls.” I’m not entirely sure I built a house in here, but I’ve definitely been feeling recently like I’ve had someone else move in.
It’s a weird thing, being surprised at your own reactions. It sort of makes me feel like I’m insane, or broken, or like some weird new version of me snuck in while I was sleeping, and I’m not sure when--or if--the old version will be back. Or who’s gonna slap this new, solitude-loving self of mine back into the hopeless romantic he used to be. I mostly get a little scared that *that* part will never come back--which would be a shame, because I think this world needs as many romantics as it can get--and I’ll just kind of have to get used to whatever it is I’m feeling now.
I’m not entirely worried either way, and it’s not changing how I live my life--I’m sure this will be read as significantly more dramatic than it truly is, and I really urge anyone reading this to chill out and not think it’s “about them,” or that I’m attempting to send some secret message through this. I’m actually just genuinely curious if anyone else has felt the same--because right now, I’m alone for the first time in a few days, and it feels like a good ol’ exhale.
