Tennessee Valley might be my favorite place in the world. I love it in all its incarnations: bucolic sunny splendor, refuge for delicate wildlife (and introverts), happliy trafficked weekend days, moonlit nights with owls hooting. But perhaps my favorite Tennessee Valley mood is lonely, stormy spring evening. Last night I walked to the beach alone, listening to an ominous Radiolab podcast about a necrophiliac serial killer (perhaps not the best choice for a solo hike at dusk), but I didn’t feel lonely. I don’t get lonely when I’m alone. In fact, strangely, the only time feel lonely is when I’m surrounded by people. Perhaps all introverts are this way.
I spent a lot of time by myself growing up. When I think about the things I used to do for fun when I was 8, they haven’t really changed all that much: reading, making up stories, hanging out at the library, adventuring around in the woods by myself.
Because I live in a very ¡fun! Place (the Bay Area), and I have a lot of ¡fun! friends who go to Burning Man and costume parties and other ¡fun! stuff, I am constantly getting invited to social goings-on. I almost always say no. Often. When I say “no thanks” to a party, I’ll generally get the cajoling, “come on, it’ll be fun” beg from the friend in question. It’s almost as if they think, if they could just get me to go to a party/festival/block party/rock concert just this once, I would realize that I really do in fact like huge group gatherings; I’ve been wrong this whole time; I am a whole different person than I think I am.
Occasionally I acquiesce and go to a party. 97% of the time, I regret it. Parties are not my thing. I usually end up huddled in a corner with the person I came with, desperately avoiding eye contact and taking frequent trips to the bathroom, where I can get brief moments of respite in a stall by myself.
That’s not to say that I’m not social. I go for hikes with my friends; I go to yoga (not really) with my friends; I go to movies with my friends; I make dinner with my friends. Sometimes I do those things with my friends, and sometimes I do them by myself. I like both.
I’m glad I’m not a person who needs constant company to keep me grounded. I’m glad I need lots and lots of alone time. In my prior life as a Romantic With Hope, I always dated outgoing, sociable guys who liked parties and Halloween and Bay to Breakers and all those things that make me highly anxious. More and more, now that I am committed to remaining single and solitary, I am a shut-in. I’m not planning to try to be different any time soon. The nice thing about being 40 and single? I can be exactly who I want to be.
