“We are all alone, born alone, die alone, and — in spite of True Romance magazines — we shall all someday look back on our lives and see that, in spite of our company, we were alone the whole way. I do not say lonely — at least, not all the time — but essentially, and finally, alone. This is what makes your self-respect so important, and I don’t see how you can respect yourself if you must look in the hearts and minds of others for your happiness.” ― Hunter S. Thompson
I should start by saying that being alone and feeling lonely are separated by one thing: your perception of the situation. Which, of course, can be changed, but most of the times is a subconscious decision that appears to be out of your control.
My own loneliness is a contradictory issue. I have to be alone, I need to be alone, and I love being alone. I can write, I can enjoy the silence for longer periods of time than almost anyone else I ever met. I can only find myself when I am all alone in a silent room. I go out with people, act silly and whatnot for a couple of hours, all the while longing to go back home and be all by myself. I’ve been at parties and wanted nothing more than to go home, where there’s no one waiting but the hope of finding myself again.
“Thirty years ago my older brother, who was ten years old at the time, was trying to get a report written on birds that he’d had three months to write, which was due the next day. We were out at our family cabin in Bolinas, and he was at the kitchen table close to tears, surrounded by binder paper and pencils and unopened books about birds, immobilized by the hugeness of the task ahead. Then my father sat down beside him put his arm around my brother’s shoulder, and said, “Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird.” – Anne Lamott
Just a friendly reminder.