Solo

One time when I was very young, I called my dad to tell him my friend couldn’t come over. I was upset because I didn’t want to spend my day being bored. In response to my complaint, my dad told me that I needed to learn how to be okay with being by myself. I remember being rattled by that notion, but I pondered what he meant because I respected him.

When I played with the idea of moving to a new city, I knew that I needed to go alone. People would ask if I were nervous about not knowing anyone in the area or if I were scared to make such a big move on my own, and truthfully, I couldn’t imagine doing this with any of my friends or family. As much as I love the people I have at home, my soul was begging to be alone with just me, so even though I was a little nervous to come out to Utah by myself, I had to trust that I was meant to do it on my own.

What do I mean when I say, “my soul was begging to be alone with just me”? How did I know that moving on my own was the right choice? Well, first off, the times that I have traveled alone (or even partially alone) have been some of my favorite experiences. They prove to be trying times, but they are the most rewarding. Being alone is usually when I learn a lot about myself— what I’m capable of, how much knowledge I have, where my weaknesses are, and when I’m being pushed to my limits. It unfolds a tremendous amount of hidden self-information that’s usually masked by the presence of other people.

We rely on others to do what we ourselves do not want to do or do not think we are cable of doing. When I am traveling alone, I have no one else but myself to rely on. I have to step out of my comfort zone. I have to trust that I will work through an issue. I have no one to lean on, so I am literally forced to grow.

I also knew that moving on my own was the right decision for me because I needed to filter out the noise. I’m sure you know exactly what I’m referring to. All that “stuff” that clouds our ability to listen to ourselves. You can probably find an easier way to filter out the noise than moving across the country, but I needed what was out here. I traded the city’s sirens for the mountain’s silence, and I am positive that was the right move for me at this time in my life.

I’ve learned something about myself while I’ve been here that has been apart of my identity for as long as I can remember. It was always a fuzzy characteristic I could never put my finger on, but it’s become a lot clearer to me the longer I’ve been here. I realized that we all have a threshold for social interaction. Some people’s are really high, and some people’s are rather low. Mine happens to fall into the “rather low” category. Although I’ve typically been one to lean more towards the, “I’m going to sit this one out” or “I’m not up for it tonight,” reasonings, I would wonder how everyone else seemed to always be up for hanging out or doing something social. I would think, “Don’t they ever get tired and just want to be alone?”

I’m not sure about everyone else, I just know that in order for me to function as seamlessly as I can, I need to respect my low threshold for social interaction. That does not translate to, “I don’t like you” or “I don’t enjoy spending time with you.” It simply means that, “In order for both of us to enjoy the time we spend with each other, I need to set boundaries with myself for how much and how often I expend my energy to others.”

I have gone through bouts where I have retracted from social interactions. It may seem as if I am boring, bored, or a homebody, but none of those resonate with me. I rarely get bored, and I shed my homebody persona a very long time ago. It is not up for me to debate if I am a boring person, so I can’t argue with that one.

I find myself longing for time alone now. When I get home from skiing or hiking or even running errands at the store, I feel this sense of peace. It’s as if showering, making meals, cleaning my room or apartment, and reading are the safe spaces I have created for me to come home to. Regardless of what people say or do, when I come back to me, I can live my truth and find comfort in knowing that even if no one else understands me or hears me, I do. Sometimes, (most times actually) that is enough.

There are times I say I am busy or have plans, and I’m not able to make it. I’m not lying, either. I am busy, and I do have plans. It just isn’t the kind of busy most people understand. It’s easier to say, “I’m not available,” than it is to say, “I’m busy unwinding, calming a day’s worth of stimulation, or re-centering my mind.”

A few years ago, while I was traveling and deeply appreciating the time I had to myself, I wrote something that encapsulates my thoughts about the value in being alone:

I want to be one with myself. Feel the weight of my body against the billions of others. To feel insignificant in size but valuable in space. Like my existence means everything yet nothing to anyone else.

Over the years, I have found value in physically being alone. There is so much to learn, contemplate, and unpack when you are by yourself. I really do believe that the space, stillness, and serenity you can find in solitude is soul-saving, and if perhaps I’m wrong in believing that, at the very least, I know my dad was right.