Alone, at Last
I used to be fearful of becoming the girl in that movie scene who blows out her birthday candle on a cupcake in her apartment alone; with a demanding career and a great view, but nobody around.
Come to think of it, it’s quite a common character depicted in movies. These successful women that are portrayed tend to have a giant wall and enough defensiveness to stop the “When are you getting hitched?” conversations.
There’ll perhaps be a montage of her working as an outstanding leader at work where people respect her and going home to an aesthetic pinterest-blueprint apartment to prepare her dinner, then eat in stillness.
Being alone used to be so scary (despite the wealth and success a woman could actually focus on while being alone). I could say it was my biggest fear for a while. I had a scarcity of self-efficacy and my thoughts were not very friendly. There was just this longing for a person to come home to or to give me the tenderness I craved for in my ballad of moments, and the illusion of that person’s absence — which I learned that it didn’t have to be a crucial presence to begin with — amplified my insecurities.
Maybe I really am not fit to be loved. Maybe I am hard to love. Maybe if I keep this up, being me, I might not settle down at all.
Toxic thought? Yes.
Valid? Yes.
True? Not even a little bit.
I believe we shouldn’t trick ourselves into thinking there’s a standard to be loved. It’s not like applying for a job — we got the job already when we were born. It’s about living up to the core principles of being human, of being kind, of being authentically ourselves. If we’re going to use the job application analogy, we need to keep performing our best and living up to the position we’re given; as humans, with all its very humanely possible traits.
The best part of it? This job and industry is fair and just. The big boss a.k.a. capital H is the fairest of them all.
Today, in a setting where the outside world is hostile, I’ve been growing alone. There really is no other person that I should rely on. There are people I can rely on, which will always warm my heart, but it doesn’t mean that I should.
The growth I pursue alone means that I call out my flaws, I counteract my toxic thoughts, I try new things, I find coping mechanism(s) that works and that doesn’t, I adapt to new phases, I quit things, I reject bad things, I implement good mindset; all alone. It was done through me and by me. I trained myself to not be dependent to anyone and knowing that I didn’t need to… allowed me to be my own cornerstone.
Then I ask myself again, aiming to question the younger me who feared this state of being alone:
How is that fearful? How is that sad? How is that not an achievement instead?
It doesn’t mean to say that I don’t get lonely. I am a walking epitome of the word ‘sappy’ (sad happy). Loneliness and I buddy up like it’s a lifetime school project. When loneliness comes over to hang out — most often outside of my will and sort of like being that one friend who comes over and takes over your house like it’s theirs — I remind myself.
Appreciate the stillness of it. Not the hollow, not the void. The abundance of time, space, energy, and consciousness I have for myself. Not having to divide a part of me for the wellbeing of one specific other person, because the people I have around me right now — the ones that matter — don’t demand that of me. They’re full, whole, conscious of themselves. Yet, I’m so important to them, more than ever.
I remind myself that that is a blessing. It’s a blessing to listen to yourself think. To listen to yourself speak. To be conscious of every thought coming and going. To notice your change of mind, your change of heart. To be still. To be just, you.
Having another person is nice, yes. That kind of love is jackpot. That kind of love is lottery-winning worthy. An intoxicating high.
But this isn’t low.
This is still.
And to appreciate that is rare.
