This past Saturday, my 7-person and 1 dog family went to Cape Cod, Massachusetts, sans me (also, I just spelled Massachusetts correctly on the first try and I don’t know if I have ever done that in my life!). I’ve spent the past 6 days sleeping in my parent’s house by myself, doing my own dishes, putting out the recycling, getting the car inspected, and sometimes going to bed early. After travelling so much this summer, I decided I needed to stay put for a little bit and clear my mind by myself.
I have always needed alone time. It is nothing new at this point.
There are so many ways to be alone. You can be be alone in a crowded place — a type of invisible that exits when everyone is alone together. I have a lot of this. Right now I am at the library and everyone here is alone. I am alone. On the train; going to the grand opening of a grocery store by myself; eating an ice cream cone surrounded by families; waiting in line at the Motor Vehicle Commission. It’s a different type of solitude. The things you can do when you are surrounded by people but no one is looking at you. Crying in a theatre, writing to yourself, reading standing up on the platform.
You can be alone in an empty place, very much alone with just some birds and some weeds and maybe the sun. You can be alone in your room, with the door shut and voices echoing from downstairs. You can be alone in your bed, trying and failing to fall asleep. You can be alone when everyone says “Yes,” and you say “No.” You can be alone when you are somewhere you don’t want to be. You can be alone when you miss someone or when you are remembering that little place that someone used to sit and the way their fingers looked when they were frustrated. You can be alone playing the same four bars over and over again. You can be alone when you hear a song and sigh along. You can be alone choosing your clothes for the day. You can be alone walking around the block or the lake or the campus. You can be alone just wondering.
Sometimes, it is hard to be alone. In the beginning of the week, I thought I had made a mistake, choosing an empty house over the fullness of the Cape Cod beaches and the still lakes. But it has become comforting, and lovely, and I can hear myself better. My family is supposed to come back today, and I am excited to see them again, and trying to enjoy my last day as much as possible. It is scary to choose yourself over other things. It is hard to say I am different and I want this and I need this and I will give you this because I love you, but we still do.
on/often 