Being okay with being alone

Getting to the point of feeling okay about being alone seems to take a while. Mostly I blame other people for this: it wouldn’t be an issue if they didn’t make it one by pointing out that I am alone and asking why this is. I don’t think I’ve ever had the nerve to ask a married person why they are married, although sometimes I do wonder, and wonder even more how they stay married.

But I digress. For probably 23.9 hours out of the day, I don’t think about being alone and it certainly doesn’t bother me. For the other 0.1h I think about it either because someone brings it up, or because I am struck with a mild case of panic as I wonder “is it okay that I feel okay about this?”

The most difficult part about coming to terms with being alone has been accepting that it is perfectly okay to want to live how I want to live. I’m not naturally a rebel, or someone who is happy to dance to the beat of her own drum playing Gregorian chant when everyone else is moving to hip-hop or whatever the kids are into these days. Being different has never felt comfortable for me. I am a fitter-inner, which is to say, someone who tries to fit in. Choosing to be alone is not a statement of grand independence nor a trendy lifestyle statement, nor is it ‘putting on a brave face’. It’s just what suits me. I feel comfortable when I am alone.

But I have to constantly remind myself that this is okay, that I am allowed to do what makes me comfortable even if it makes other people uncomfortable.

 

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