Why Being Alone is Kickass (Even for an Extrovert)

A Snowy Winter Night in Colorado

It was a beautiful drive home from my friend’s white elephant party. The amount of cars joining me on the road was sparse, and the snow literally glittered beneath my headlights. There’s something incredibly humbling about standing alone underneath snowfall, in total silence. It was a numinous moment, for sure. I stood in awe of nature and the fact that I was somehow existing in the universe at that exact moment, breathing in the winter and the night.  The moment wouldn’t have been the same if I hadn’t been alone.

Being alone is a fear we often possess; loneliness is one of the most terrifying possibilities that exist. Humans are designed to interact with each other, and a lack of interpersonal relationships can lead to serious unhappiness. I absolutely agree with this logic; relationships with other people are a huge piece of what makes life and being human so beautiful. However, it is also true that if we are never alone we miss out on the pretty-freaking-important relationship that we have with our inner Self. Whether it’s a blissful moment in the middle of the night under snow, or a mid-college breakdown alone in our bedrooms, being alone and feeling what it’s like to only be with ourselves is damn important. Or at least that’s what I think I’ve been figuring out.

During high school I was lonely a lot of the time, even though I had many “friends”. I was so concerned with surrounding myself with other people, and I thought being alone meant social failure. I would spend hours (literally hours) on Facebook, either to post my own pictures and prove my sociability, or put myself through hell and compare myself to what everyone else was doing. People were at parties together, traveling around the world, climbing mountains with their gorgeous boyfriends, and I was… watching YouTube alone in my room? It felt horrible and it was certainly not great for my already fragile self esteem. I now understand that Facebook is a totally inaccurate depiction of anyone’s life, which is why I’ve started to dramatically reduce my time on it (http://vimeo.com/70534716). It’s so pointless and toxic to spend our time worrying about everyone else’s lives while ours are waiting to be lived. Constantly being on social media and getting reassurance through likes is not the same as having authentic in-person relationships. Apart from the internet, it’s not necessary to constantly be surrounded by other people solely for the sake of not being alone. We’re bombarded with false illusions that are designed to make us feel lonely, when in reality we need to learn how to be alone and grow into ourselves. If we can do this, our relationships with other people will be so much healthier, and we will actually be able to identify with who we are as individuals. If you can sit alone in a room and face yourself, well, I think that is badass.

Laughing Goats

My obsession for goats has intensified greatly in the last two months, and that is important.

I love goats because they are goofy and considerably carefree. They remind me of my Grandpa, because he also loves goats, and I think they are in general an overlooked species. They do what they want, eat what they want, play when they want, and they smile. These are all traits I think more humans should adopt.

A goat I came across in Jamaica

My favorite coffee shop (so far) is called The Laughing Goat, which is where I am writing from right now. It’s nestled on Pearl Street in Boulder, Colorado, simple and adorable, but also kind of edgy. I’ve spent many hours here; applying to college, writing essays, sending emails, observing, sometimes meeting with other people. Like most coffee shops, The Laughing Goat has this vibe that makes me feel cool and mysterious, which maybe I am, but not necessarily on a regular basis. The lighting is interesting and glows more yellow than fluorescent. There’s strange art and a tiny stage where droves of people have performed their poetry and music on various week nights. People have met here, broken up here, laughed here, sent words they probably regret, sent words that changed their lives, and in general, this is  a space where people have existed for a short period of time. I share a commonality with all people who have ever been in the Laughing Goat, simply because a portion of our lives were spent here.

The Laughing Goat is one of the places I grew nostalgic for in the last two months. In Oregon I haven’t found a coffee shop that I resonate with. To me this is an indication that I need to do more exploring. It also might have something to do with my lack of income, and my constant inclination to use my meal plan whenever possible (this includes copious amounts of food hoarding from the dining hall, which if you weren’t aware, is a collegiate sport. My proudest hoardings to date were an entire salad placed skillfully in a backpack, and five chocolate covered marshmallows on a stick).

I’m glad I missed The Laughing Goat, and even though I am excited to find my Oregon coffee shop, I hope to always be somewhat sentimental about this one. I like missing things to an extent. It’s part of having two homes, which is a reality both strange and enlightening. Existing in two places is something I hadn’t experienced until September, and it’s been a beautiful phenomenon. I now refer to two places as “home”, which my mom is not particularly fond of. I referred to my dorm as “home” the other day, and she quickly corrected me as she gestured around the kitchen, “I don’t think so, this is your home”.  I’ve been careful to stop referring to Oregon as home in front of her, mostly for her sanity. It’s a weird process for her, having me live in a different state, and I try to be patient.  I can’t relate to what it’s like having your kids move away, so I just have to be rational about how I react to her new “Mom with daughter in college” tendencies. We’re all learning. Even the goats.

The Bridge

The striking and gloomy beauty of the Northwest