Sunday #11: Solo

I used to not understand when people complained about being lonely. 

I never felt it myself--to me being alone was, for many years, the most glorious of delights--it was being with others that required determined focus and patience. Not that I didn't enjoy the company of others, I just had a limit to the amount of engagement, mostly because it required so much energy. When I was done I knew it and it was time to get the hell out of there. 

You might call this classic introversion, and I wouldn't argue the definition, but I don't think it tells the whole story, which is the problem in general with labels. Introversion suggests that the desire for solitude over social engagement is a given in a person--we are either introverts or extroverts. But the wider truth is that there is more that influences one's social personality. 

In my past, social interaction could be enjoyable, but it was also fraught with risks. It was rarely "safe" to me. I felt little control over the possibility that I would be ignored, embarrassed, humiliated, or laughed at, because at times in my life I felt little control over what came out of my mouth. Not that I had Tourette's or anything, I would just be so anxious about fucking up that I would not be mindful of my words and behavior in the moment. I would move through parties on social autopilot, a path designed to keep me from crashing. It would work, unless it didn't and I said something that was from another universe. 

Can you relate?

Over time, I learned to slow down, literally, by using my breath. This allowed me to stay in the moment and converse mindfully, with more control over my responses and inquiries. I taught myself how to relax and, as a result, I got better at socializing. But I still needed solitude to refresh and take care of myself. And I still do.

***

I have lived with the boyfriend for a year now. It has been a remarkably smooth year compared to the six months before he actually moved in. During that time I was a goddamn mess, going back and forth about whether I had made the right decision in asking him to move in, wondering if I would regret the choice to share my "safe space" with someone who requires "a lot of attention". I regret causing him so much pain with my back and forth (which triggered his own abandonment issues), and generally not showing up as reliable more often than not. But I was truly struggling at the time, wrestling with my lived-in need for alone-time vs. my desire to create a home and life with this man who I wanted and needed to be with. Fuck! Why couldn't it have been easy?

With my therapy clients, I often invite them to use the following questions when they find themselves pulled between two disparate needs:

1. What would Love choose/do/say?
2. What is the purpose of what you are choosing to do or say?

There are many times when I need to ask myself these exact questions. To do so helps me differentiate between what I am doing to protect myself and what I am doing to move myself forward. When it came to the boyfriend moving in, I quickly realized that Fear wanted him out while Love wanted him in. 

Over time, I chose Love, and I chose him. And then I realized the purpose of having him live with me is I wanted to feel my life. 

***

The boyfriend has been away for three weeks as of this writing, and will be away for another couple of days before returning home. He is spending time with his family, which is a mixed blessing for him--something those of you with families will understand. 

At first I thought I would relish the time he was away. I thought that I would love coming home from work with nobody to respond to except myself, that I would love the quiet, the solitude, the freedom. I would miss him, sure. I love living with the boyfriend, but I have noticed that, since COVID, I have less and less "me" time, since he has been working from home since March. This led me to believe that I would appreciate the time he was away. Or so I was led to believe. 

But the truth is that I hate him being away. I fucking hate him being away. I don't tell him this as such because I don't want him to feel badly about visiting his family. This is my feeling, and I don't hold him responsible for it. But I do wonder what it says about me at this point in my life. 

Here is what I think it says about me at this point in my life. I used to only find safety in solitude. That is no longer the case. Now, I find safety in being with the boyfriend. I feel safe with him, and less so without him. With him, there is little anxiety about saying the wrong thing, making the wrong choice, doing the wrong thing. This is because it is easy to be mindfully present with him. I don't have to project into the future to a time when I will be ignored, embarrassed, humiliated, or laughed at. We would not do that to each other.

His greatest triumph in our relationship is that he has convinced me that he loves me.

***

I still enjoy solitude, but not at the level I used to. The function of solitude has changed. It used to be one of the only places I could be present and mindful safely. Now it is the place where I charge up my mindfulness so I can take it into my relationship. It is also the place where I sometimes experience loneliness now--a feeling unfamiliar to me for most of my life. But it is a specific loneliness--it is a loneliness for him, for the person I most love loving. 

Mind you, I am not saying that one must be in a relationship, but I am saying that one must be in relationship with something. Being with the boyfriend has freed me to be more in relationship to my work, my friends, my life. He helped me feel that it would be okay. He also played a major role in my acceptance of loss--something that I previously would dance with but never go home with. Solitude was a way to avoid pain and loss, but it was also, unfortunately, avoiding life to an extent. The paradox is that being with others increases one's chances of experiencing loss, while also making it easier to survive it. It's a bet worth taking--I just needed the right person to take my hand and guide me in. 

We are all solo in the end, in a way. I always thought it best to make solitude the default--that way I would be ready when my time came. My perspective has changed. I now feel that the best way to prepare for death is to live life--fully, as Nietzsche suggested. The best way for me to do that at this point is with the boyfriend, in relationship, with him, in our home. Just one more Sunday to get through without him.

Please come the fuck home.