Being alone is not the same thing as being lonely.
At one point towards the end of the past school year I would've given anything for 48 hours of real alone time: A place all to myself, to do whatever I want whenever I want wearing whatever I want without any other human beings or thoughts of the outside world infiltrating my sanctuary.
But today as I left work and my roommate left for the airport, the realization finally hit that the next 48+ hours would be spent completely alone with absolutely nothing to do and no one to do it with.
Now at some point everyone is alone. But depending on how long you're alone, how easily attainable noT being alone is, and most importantly, whether or not you choose to be alone, makes all the difference in the world.
The thing we take for granted when we run into our room away from our parents, or cordially decline a night out with friends is, at any given time, you can go back out among the living and end that alone time.
Which is why, after a week of company training, polite smiles and friendly conversation, eating everything on my plate at business lunches and acting, looking, and being professional and nice, I find it bewildering to have a completely empty weekend without the comforting security blankets of friends and family to retreat to. I'd even settle for familiar surroundings and possessions.
After a few hours of channel surfing and raiding the fridge and pantry (the first thing I stocked up to compensate for my lack of companionship) to feed my cravings of sweet and salty food, I realized I had another 6 hours before bedtime.
I forced myself out and went to Barnes & Noble. I couldn't keep eating away the afternoon, and after loved ones and food, books are my next salvation from insanity.
I spent two and a half hours among five rows of fiction picking up every other book, reading the description and putting it back. I realize I've grown more and more selective and narrow-minded when it comes to books. My penchant for historical fiction has grown into an addiction, albeit a discriminating one. The past dozen books I've purchased have all taken place in another time and country - how Freudian-ly representative of my wish to be somewhere, anywhere, else than where I am right now.
As I walk out of the chilly two story building into warm desert air, I notice the shopping square is teeming with families and couples and groups strolling in and out of the shops. It's a very nice place; sushi and seafood restaurants rolled in with designer clothing and furniture stores. The architecture is clean and modern with a pleasant Western flair, and the palm trees sway in a wonderfully warm non-humid breeze.
All around me I hear snippets of conversation, ripples of laughter and the pleasant crinkling of shopping bags. It's amazing how much more aware you are of the experiences of others when you have no one to share an experience with yourself.
Now this is no self-pitying passage, just a simple observation. Although I have to admit that even though being alone is not always the same thing as being lonely,
all too often, it is.
But today as I left work and my roommate left for the airport, the realization finally hit that the next 48+ hours would be spent completely alone with absolutely nothing to do and no one to do it with.
Now at some point everyone is alone. But depending on how long you're alone, how easily attainable noT being alone is, and most importantly, whether or not you choose to be alone, makes all the difference in the world.
The thing we take for granted when we run into our room away from our parents, or cordially decline a night out with friends is, at any given time, you can go back out among the living and end that alone time.
Which is why, after a week of company training, polite smiles and friendly conversation, eating everything on my plate at business lunches and acting, looking, and being professional and nice, I find it bewildering to have a completely empty weekend without the comforting security blankets of friends and family to retreat to. I'd even settle for familiar surroundings and possessions.
After a few hours of channel surfing and raiding the fridge and pantry (the first thing I stocked up to compensate for my lack of companionship) to feed my cravings of sweet and salty food, I realized I had another 6 hours before bedtime.
I forced myself out and went to Barnes & Noble. I couldn't keep eating away the afternoon, and after loved ones and food, books are my next salvation from insanity.
I spent two and a half hours among five rows of fiction picking up every other book, reading the description and putting it back. I realize I've grown more and more selective and narrow-minded when it comes to books. My penchant for historical fiction has grown into an addiction, albeit a discriminating one. The past dozen books I've purchased have all taken place in another time and country - how Freudian-ly representative of my wish to be somewhere, anywhere, else than where I am right now.
As I walk out of the chilly two story building into warm desert air, I notice the shopping square is teeming with families and couples and groups strolling in and out of the shops. It's a very nice place; sushi and seafood restaurants rolled in with designer clothing and furniture stores. The architecture is clean and modern with a pleasant Western flair, and the palm trees sway in a wonderfully warm non-humid breeze.
All around me I hear snippets of conversation, ripples of laughter and the pleasant crinkling of shopping bags. It's amazing how much more aware you are of the experiences of others when you have no one to share an experience with yourself.
Now this is no self-pitying passage, just a simple observation. Although I have to admit that even though being alone is not always the same thing as being lonely,
all too often, it is.
posted by Steph at 8:23 PM
1 Comments:
come HOME.
im LONELY TOO.
i wake up to an empty house and come home to one.
without you making a ruckus, it's so QUIET.
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