I Am Alone, Not Lonely
More than a hundred essays begin with the clause Humans are social beings.
And it is true. We are all of us people. We seek love, connection, belonging, and understanding — and many humans also desire hugs, kisses, a family, a life companion.
But we are all of us individuals too.
We carry our own minds and bodies, and so we need our own space too — for as with anything, we need balance. We cannot always be with people. Sometimes (inevitably) we are alone.
And I, for one, love being alone.
I do not have a partner, nor do I desire one. I do not have a friend group, nor do I want one. I never go out, nor do I ever wish to.
And I am tired of people labeling lives like mine as lonely.
A lot of people are afraid of being alone.
Whether they yearn to have a romantic partner, or feel the need to attend every social event they hear about, or simply hate passing time in solitude, they almost constantly look for company. And while it isn’t healthy to live a life completely removed from other people (again, social beings), it doesn’t sound particularly appealing to me to never feel content with your own company. Because while I do love spending time with others, I also love spending time with myself.
Which is where the distinction between alone and lonely becomes central.
When I think alone, I think situation — a situation that you find yourself in, either by choice or by circumstance. You are single, you have no friends at your new school, everyone you know is busy, and so on. It is an objective fact; you are currently without company within a specific context.
When I think lonely, I think experience — an experience of want that arises in particular situations of aloneness. You are single but you want a partner, you wish you had someone to go with to the library, you are surrounded by people but still feel hollow and lost, and so on. It is a subjective sensation; you feel like you are lacking something (love, connection, belonging, etc., which psychotherapist Charlotte Fox Weber lists as some of humankind’s “deepest desires”) and you miss the presence of someone else.
You can be alone without feeling lonely.
More often than not, I am. (Because yes, I do feel lonely sometimes, in the same way that I sometimes feel jealous or angry or ashamed. But I am not lonely generally speaking, much like I am not jealous or angry or ashamed as a rule.)
Take romance as an example.
I am single. But unlike what Greek mythology claims about humans and life partners, I do not feel like I am missing a second half. I do not feel a need to “make myself whole” by dating or marrying (even if I do have a crush), because I already feel whole.
And I do not feel like someone is missing from my life.
I look forward to family dinners and school seminars, and I always feel sad when it is time to leave after a hang-out with my best friend. But I see those moments of company as enrichments — as beautiful additions — to a life lived mostly alone. Not because I never crave company, not because I could ever live without it, but because I do not always seek it, so I do not always miss it.
I like my own company, and isn’t that such a wonderful privilege to have?
To not feel like half a person (even if I ever decided to enter a relationship). To not seek constant companionship. To not be bored with my own mind.
I am alone, not lonely.
And I know that I am not alone in feeling that way.
