The nightstand lamp is on. The humming of the AC and the click clack of my keyboard are the only sounds I’m hearing. The curtain remains drawn from this morning, when I opened it just a bit to let the sunshine in. It is now dusk and all I can see through that small opening are a couple of brake lights that come and go, every few minutes, on the road beyond the parking lot of the hotel. I’m sitting in bed, under the covers but fully dressed (with my jeans open because I’ve been eating too much on this trip — and for the last couple of months, to be honest). I’m typing away on my laptop, thinking that if I describe every detail of this moment, inspiration will come to me and I’ll be able to render something worth reading.
I contemplate my aloneness; the concept is a bit unusual for me because I’ve conditioned myself to rely on having someone around most of my life. I’ve never lived alone and I usually don’t travel alone. I’m not against it. I’ve made it a point to become more independent as the years go by. I believe it is important, as a woman, to be physically, financially and emotionally independent. It is just as important that we are comfortable with our aloneness.
A few years ago, I heard of a friend of a friend whose husband had recently passed away. She was middle aged and a stay-at-home mom when it happened. She hadn’t had a job since she got married, and while she managed school and home chores for the kids and family, she couldn’t begin to know how to do some other crucial home responsibilities. How do I pay the bills? Who do I call for the landscaping? Something broke, what do I do? I remember hearing this story and immediately thinking I should learn how to pay for utilities and to change a tire. I still don’t know how to change a tire. *Mental note*
There was another story I heard about an older woman whose husband had to travel for a few weeks outside of the country. For some reason the wife could not go with him, but she was incapable of staying home alone, so her child dropped everything, got on a flight, and went to her rescue. I tried to put myself in her shoes, but it was hard to understand, from my perspective and generation, how an adult woman could be so hesitant about functioning alone for a relatively short period of time. I tried not to judge her, but I did, and then I remembered when I moved to France for a semester in college.
At 21, and for the first time in my life, I was out of my family home, traveling alone, and solely responsible for my finances, my food, my self. Yes, I managed to figure out airport and travel logistics. Yes, I had finally gathered the courage to do a semester abroad. Yes, I was finally going to put my French to good use. Yes, I was going to have to figure out day-to-day life in another country. I was excited and happy that I had gotten this far, but when I got to the place that was supposed to be my home for the next six months, reality suckerpunched me in an instant.
My roommates and I had found a basement apartment on Facebook, it was at a suburban home 20 minutes from the town center. The place was not what we had expected and we left after two weeks — but that’s a story for another time. The landlord let me in, showed me around briefly and left. One of my roommates had already settled in but was not there at the moment. There was another girl living in what was supposed to be my room. I walked into that cold basement, rolled my suitcases to a fold-out couch in the living room. There was a portable closet from Ikea next to the couch. I looked around the space that was going to be “my room” for the foreseeable future, sat down on the couch and started balling.
I found myself completely alone in an unknown place. My tears were a mix of fear, joy, excitement, sorrow and whatthefuckness. I couldn’t believe that I had actually moved across the world. I felt proud of myself but also wanted my mom to hold me. I think I may have actually cried out “mommyyyy” at one point. I cried myself to sleep and woke up early evening to the smell of warm pasta and a conversation in a foreign language. My Italian roommates were making dinner and talking in whispers in the kitchen. When they saw I was awake, they introduced themselves, hugged me, and fed me. I was not alone.
Covid may be the most recent and obvious event of collective isolation. Those who lived alone, probably experiencing the worst type of loneliness. Several articles point to data showing the repercussions of complete isolation on adults and the decline of mental health during the pandemic. But being physically alone is not the only way to experience loneliness.
Every day, myriads of people feel lonely even while surrounded by friends and family. At any given moment, people may lose their partners, a friend, a family member, and find themselves physically and emotionally alone. And yet, there are people who lose themselves in others, forgetting that they, too, need to prioritize themselves, their own time and space.
So what is the right balance? How do we ensure we don’t cross over to isolation territory or rely entirely too much on other people for our existence? According to my first Google search result, “there's a difference between time alone and loneliness. Alone time is a healthy way to recharge, de-stress, and recenter yourself. Loneliness is unwanted mental or physical isolation that can negatively impact mental and physical health, sleep, and cognitive abilities. However, lack of alone time can affect your mental health, too.”
I’ve been on my own for the last few days, and during that time, I’ve taken myself to dinner, to a museum, to the gym. I’ve read and journaled. I’ve stayed in bed, scrolling mindlessly. It’s been a recharge, and the hardest part has been pacing myself and understanding that doing nothing during my time of solitude is a good thing.
My mind still dabbles, sometimes, into scenarios where I’m completely alone; where there is no one waiting for me back home. My own little horror movie playing in my head, where the main character lives the last days of her life alone. I know life can change in the blink of an eye, but I try to not lose sleep over that anymore. I’ve observed myself be during alone time; I’ve watched myself get up after terrible falls. I know I can cry my eyes out, wipe the tears away, and realize I won’t be alone — I have myself.