The Vitality of Being Alone

Recently, I took a vacation with friends to the middle of nowhere, staying in a log cabin with two rooms and an outhouse. I felt like I was in my dream house (except for the outhouse). I began fantasizing about life in the mountains: cooking, gardening, spotting, and living out my life as the eccentric cat lady I’ve always wanted to be. But when I shared this perspective of life with my friends, a few of them dismissed my dreams. They weren’t knocking my opinion, and I’m not knocking theirs; they just can’t thrive in solitude like I can.

Let’s get something straight before we continue: I do not like people. Many people assume this means I hate everyone I’ve ever met. On the contrary, there are several people in my life that are regrettably stuck with me, because once I find people I like I do not let them go. But I don’t enjoy the general public. I feel like every time I’m out in public, there are people. In public, no less. I love being alone; part of that comes from how I spent so much time in my own world growing up. My mother claims I was an independent child—I say I was so disinterested in trying to play with other kids that I’d just take matters into my own hands and play with what I wanted when I wanted.

I will say that in recent years I’ve been trying to be more social. I think the COVID-19 pandemic was a saving grace, quite frankly. I didn’t have to talk to anyone if I didn’t feel like it. But unfortunately, humans are naturally social creatures, and the more time you spend away from people, the more time you feel like your skull is becoming a prison for your brain. At least I had my family to talk to, and I like most of them anyway.

But ever since I enrolled in higher education, my social levels have been…stunted. I get the recommended amount of social interaction from the same fifteen people I talk to every day, and that is plenty. There are moments where I enjoy going out and having dinner with friends, or going to CAB events, or even just swapping TikToks and laughing about nothing. It’s moments like these where I can step back and appreciate what’s in front of me. I can feel movements in my chest when I’m happy; like my heart is so full of love that it wants to burst free of my ribs. But I wasn’t always able to appreciate the small moments like that.

Initially, I began writing this article to praise the benefits of being alone. But in reality, this is also meant to be encouragement for those who might need to practice the art of being alone. Some people may say this is introverted propaganda, and that being alone isn’t an “art.” I’d like to argue back with the fact that there are plenty of articles online urging introverts to “just talk to people” and to “go out and have fun!” What part of a crowded, loud-ass club is fun to you, Dale?!

It's time by yourself that can remind you of the beauty in the world around you. It’s time by yourself that can help you step back when you’re with friends or family, and you can soak in the joy and light that surrounds you. There’s something magnificent about being alone. It doesn’t take much; you don’t even have to be alone, really. You could be walking down the street, half-listening to music, thinking your thoughts. You could be sitting in class, staring at a blank space on the wall as your professor talks about something you covered in high school. You could be laying on your back in the middle of the forest, staring up at the patchwork clouds between the branches of the trees. What matters is the space that you build within your mind, where only you exist and can speak as freely as you like.

It's important to remember something here: you are in charge of what you think. Sometimes, if your thoughts can spiral like mine can, this can be used as a weapon. Sometimes your brain may try to trick you into thinking your skull is a prison. But you are in control here. If you continue to think the inside of your mind is a prison, it will remain a prison.

The idea when sitting by yourself is to create a space where you are undeniably yourself. No one is allowed to make comments on your brain space; they can’t, honestly, because it’s not possible for anyone to understand the mechanisms of your brain space the same way you do.

When you take the time to sit by yourself, imagine just your body first. Envision every angle of your physical self. What do you look like? What of your features stands out the most? What about you makes you smile?

Start to narrow the vision down some. What are you wearing? Your favorite shirt, your pajamas, your tracksuit? Imagine yourself at your best; you’ll feel like your brain space is more precious in this moment.

Begin constructing your space. Where are you? What does the room around you look like? What sits on the shelves? What pictures and paintings are displayed on the wall before you? Does this environment reflect your love of being alive?

Now, that’s a big question. But this is what matters most here.

Personally, my brain space is somewhat of a tower. The kind of tower Rapunzel was locked in for eighteen years. This may sound like a prison, but bear with me.

The idea of me in a tower is isolating, but I love being alone. Plus, I’m not constricted to my tower. I come and go as I please, using a rope ladder because my hair has yet to reach Rapunzel-quality rope strength.

The tower here also gives me a massive vantage point for looking out at the world around me. I can see trees reaching up into the great blue nothing. I can hear birds singing as they soar through the air, whistling the praises of being so unrestrained. I can see animals of all kinds, existing in the sense that they see what’s in front of them and that is their reality.

This is the boon that comes with being a human. We are aware of the fact we can construct a space where only we exist. We are aware that no one thinks the way we do (and if someone can think the way I do, I haven’t met them). But we’ve only just begun emphasizing the importance of taking the time to understand yourself. In a time where technology and immediate satisfaction has become a centralized part of our day-to-day lives, we’ve started to forget about the joy we can find in the small things.

Whenever you need a moment to yourself, return to your brain space. Develop the room you’ve built in your mind; expand it, renovate it, change it. It will be changed regardless of whether or not you want it to change. New information is processed daily, and your space will need to be modified to fit everything.

Sit in your space for as long as you can. Take your time thinking. Again, you’re in charge of everything you think about—but let yourself wander. Let your thoughts get away from you, just a little bit. Don’t stop yourself from speaking. Are you letting yourself speak as freely as you’re allowed? And, more importantly, are you listening?