Going at it alone

One of the biggest contrasts between me five years ago and me now is my comfort in doing things alone.

To clarify, I've not evolved into an introvert in that time. Many a questionnaire has categorized me into the extravert pile, and I have a good circle of friends. To me, it is more a matter of confidence.

As an adolescent, a Saturday alone was nearly as horrific as it could get, and would institute a stint of self-pity, including the requisite rambling diary entry about how horribly lonely life is. Things changed, however, when I moved to the big city in my third year of university (after doing two years at a small local college). 

You all know the story of the big fish in the small pond who suddenly finds themselves in the ocean. I was that flounder, swapped from my little tank (a graduating class of 70) to a wide ocean (a university with 30,000). Not to mention that, by virtue of entering in my 3rd year, I was attempting to intrude of well-established social circles without the advantage of dorm life. And that even 3rd year psychology classes remained enormous. And that I, for some odd reason, went to the university 1000 km away from the choice of all my friends.

At first, there was a lot of solo movie nights, as well as full forced diving into studying. And while, as time passed, friendships became to emerge, I began to see the need to take matters into my own hands, in order to prevent myself from being an utter hermit. Thus began my random exploration days, in which I would hop on a bus to an area of the city I had yet to venture to, with no plans other than a little mindless people-watching and wandering.

These few hour excursions showed me that being seen in public alone was not so humiliating experience as predicted. In the years that followed, I gradually reached out my feelers a little further-- going to movies or restaurants solo-- even when I moved again to a city where I already had an established social network. My spontaneous walks with my headphones and my camera have become a solace of sorts. Something about being with oneself when out of your typical comfort zone is really reassuring.

Two summers ago, I hopped on a plane to LA a few days prior to a conference, with a hostel booking and a few random plans. The anonymity as I roamed the streets and the knowledge that my decisions were 100% my own in the moment were amazing. And so I sat on the beach at 8am with a coffee to watch a children's surf school, and went out drinking with a bunch of Brits I'd only met moments before-- simply because I wanted to and I could.

Sure, there are disadvantages. In many cases, I would certainly rather be in the company of others-- but I've generally come to the conclusion that I'm not going to let their presence or absence restrict me from doing what I want to do. For instance, this weekend, at the last minute, the Duke's looming paper restricted him from coming to a concert with me. The time span was too short to find a friend to go with, so I sold the extra ticket, and went to see the John Butler Trio on my own. Was I cursing my decision when I had to do aimless wandering around the crowd waiting for the band to start? Maybe a little. But I just tucked myself into a crowd of people, and when the first note hit the air, I couldn't have cared less. The music hit my ears just as deliciously as it would have with a friend beside me, and I quickly melded into the crowd of people, lost in the music. 

(Though having to move from my perfect line of sight because some asshat wouldn't stop touching me wasn't appreciated-- just because I'm dancing doesn't mean it is directed at you.)

It seems to me that it is only being out of your routine that you truly learn how to trust yourself. It can be so easy to rely on others to help you adapt-- but then you really never know if it was you or not. 

One of the clearest moments I ever had was walking back to my dorms last summer through the thick Texan air after a torrential downpour had stranded me at a coffee shop for an hour. As I watched the lightening bolts shoot horizontally across the sky, it occurred to me that nothing about the current moment tied me to my everyday life-- I was thousands of miles from home and any of my usual social ties. Yet, I so strongly felt like me. As though I finally realized that my self is more consistent and real than anything you could throw at it.