Sick of the MONOtony: Can a Loner Be Lonely?

This may seem an odd thing to say about oneself, but I have always considered myself a little different.

As a little kid I would rather play "make believe" than tag or hide-and-seek, leading to me often being alone or with a few friends at recess. At family social gatherings I preferred sitting with the adults over conversation and tomfoolery with my siblings and cousins. The latter behavior has lead to people, including myself, often referring to me as an "old soul."

High school and college were awkward times. During those retched eight years I constantly felt inadequate and tried desperately to fit in with different niches. The thing about that is that each little niche, each friend I made, were things and people I truly liked. They were just different aspects of myself that did not seem to blend together nicely in any one thing or person/group.

Now an adult myself, I am finding that things are not much better. I thought they would be. I thought I would be further along in my self-development than I am; have my little quirks and people to indulge in them with.

I'm not. I don't.

Let's face it: people are complex creatures. We like to smush ourselves into one personality type or social grouping, and I don't think that approach is sufficient for many of us.

In my case it tends to hurt me, to drive me away from people, places, and opportunities. Trying to fit in and trying to let people in works for a little while, but sooner or later the biting urge to push it away is back again. I push people back, take a step back because they aren't...what? Aren't worthy enough? Aren't just exactly what I need? I'm not sure. I just know I can't let them get that close. If I do, they'll learn things about me, intimate details of my psyche, and that's not okay.

It's wearing on me.

Loner tends to have negative connotations, but truly I like to be alone. Being by myself, left to my own devices, thoughts, and whimsies. There is comfort in the solitude. Comfort in the knowledge that I don't need to worry about someone else and what they're thinking about me. If they're thinking about me at all.

No, I crave crawling back into silence, away from the false smiles and half-posed questions of the day-to-day. Back to the only person who truly understands me and truly cares: me.

The paradoxical thing is, I wish it didn't have to be that way. I long for the companionship of people I can connect with on even the most infinitesimal scale. How can I get that if I never let anyone get close to me?

It all boils down to trust in my case. On top of my introvert-ism I also have trust issues—I don't trust anyone outright. Rather than giving people the benefit of the doubt, they need to prove themselves trustworthy to me. Most people make it to the trust-you-to-a-point place on the scale, meaning I trust them in many ways with many things, but not enough to feel I can divulge my deepest feelings to them. I may open up a little about things/feelings going on, but most of the time I simply say, "Oh, I'm fine."

It's frustrating, and I'm not sure how to break through it. I'm naturally protective, especially of myself, and slightly suspicious, especially of those who try to get close to me. Why would they? They don't know me.

I'm a mess. I guess I'm okay with that, but it doesn't help the loneliness.

Should I let my guard down a little? Throw out some bait and see who takes a nibble? Perhaps.

Or perhaps one of these days I will find someone, or even a group of people, with whom I am able to connect with. People who I have things in common with and can just be myself—without having to resort to uncomfortableness to get there.

Besides, keeping things close to the vest automatically makes me "mysterious," and I do like the idea of that.

—E

There's Still Time Enough to Choose Who We Are

"I’ll be waiting
Anticipating
All that I aim for
What I was made for
With every heartbeat
All of my blood bleeds
Running inside me"
— Switchfoot, Restless

Restless. It's the best way to describe how I've been feeling. I'm not exactly sure what happened, perhaps it was going home (read: back to Chicago) for five days that did it.

Allow me to back up.

My best friend, whom I've known "from the womb," married her long-time beau on May third. I couldn't be happier for them, and I was so honored and blessed to not only witness this in person but to also be a bridesmaid. Regardless of being busy with rehearsal/dinner/photo sessions/wedding/reception I spent lots of quality time with mom and dad, and even one of my big brothers—for a day, anyway. Turns out he was leaving for New Orleans the day after I arrived and didn't return until the day after I left. That's some luck! It's okay, I still got to whoop his and everyone else's booty in one round of Scrabble thanks to a sixty-three point word. Boom! I digress...

I used this rare trip home to gauge my feelings about being back there, and to entertain the idea of moving back to that area. Thus far, the verdict seems to be the same as it has been since I first moved away thirteen years ago; I just can't really see myself living there again, especially on my own. Part of me understands this, and another part of me is questioning my priorities. I mean, shouldn't family be an important priority in one's life? Then again, that's not to say it isn't a top priority in mine. I speak to my parents almost every day. Though I wholeheartedly admit that my siblings and I are very crappy about keeping in touch. Still, I love my family and miss them very much. Several members of my extended family still live in the Chicago area, too, and it would be nice to spend holidays with them, or to get to see my little cousin's First Communion, etc.

Yet I feel content enough here in Texas to want to stay. Or do I?

Here is where the restlessness comes in. Since I have gotten back from my trip I have felt a little dazed, a little antsy. That feeling is most pronounced when I'm at work, which is a little odd since I know how lucky I am to a.) have a decent, full-time job, and b.) mostly enjoy the work and the folks I work with. However, that first day back to work and subsequent week I felt this peculiar agitation, an inchoate longing for something else, something more. It's like I said in my last post: "It's not that I am that miserable, but I just know that there is so much more for me than the simple, everyday rigmarole." This restlessness I am feeling, I think, is in large part due to my lack of passion for the things I am doing. The lack of enthusiasm. A lack of passion for my regular, paycheck-bringing job is okay, I guess. It's when it filters down to everything else in my life that the agitation comes, the restlessness in the nothingness.

So, how do I combat it? By doing.

Get this. While my days are filled with restlessness, my evenings and weekend have been full of invigoration. I've been cleaning, organizing, hanging pictures up, buying flowers for the balcony, reading every day. Once I finish this blog post I plan on finishing another one I have as a WIP (work in progress). I am also going to make a vision board on a literal board—part of a now broken IKEA desk I will be pasting pictures onto, then putting in my home office. Ah yes, the current half storage, half would-be office. Progress is slowly being made on it. Slow, but being done. Every time I empty a box my heart sings. I may start off by walking in there and scratching my head over what in the world I'm going to do with all of this stuff, but I am figuring it out. I will figure it out, and it feels great!

All of this makes me feel more grounded. The agitation and restlessness go away. Why the sudden motivation, though?

Did the mini-vacation do me that much good? Maybe. Did going home to Chicago and finding that it is not necessarily the place I want to live cause me to subconsciously decide to make the best out of my current situation? Could be.

Whatever it is, I hope it keeps up. I have written about my lack of motivation and drive before, and with any luck that will be the last time I do.

Time to keep going.

Time to start figuring this all out.

One baby step at a time is still moving forward, no matter how slowly.

It's time to choose what I want, what I can do, and go for it.

—E

Aaaannnnnnd...ACTION!

I said, ACTION!

Go!

...go on...

Seriously, what are you doing?

ACTION! Action as in a verb. As in doing something. Like a physical something.

Just... please? Please start?

Ugh.

Never mind.

______________________________________________________________

This has been my internal dialogue with myself for the last month or so.

I know what I need to do. I even make lists about what I should be doing. That seems like it should help, right? Alas, I still find myself just not able to get started (already, I mean for crying out loud!).

Chalking it up to stress seems like the easy way out, but I have been extremely stressed, and now that my latest move is over with and my parents' visit has come and gone, perhaps I will be able to calm my head enough to start doing. Anything. Just start something and, who knows, maybe finish it too. Crazy thought, huh?

Let me clear one thing up: by not getting started, by not doing anything, I mean the things that I really long to do. Things I dream about all of the time. Things that in my very soul I feel I need to be doing. I'm not so stressed and depressed that I just lay around eating take out, watching movies and never going anywhere. I get up early and get to work early, cook for myself, play with the kitty, clean up, do laundry, go to the store, blah, blah, blah.

What my problem has been lately is that I simply seem to not be able to get myself to do anything I WANT to do. I can do all of the necessities with little to no problem. It's the exercising, the writing (which I'm doing right now so Huzzah!), the organizing, the prayer/meditation, even the reading. Yep, reading! I can't even start myself on that right now. I read articles online at work about business and sales and marketing (oh my!), but for whatever reason I can't crack open a book.

Ack! I feel like I'm drifting away. Losing myself once again after working so hard to get me back.

Not cool.

So what do I do?

You know, it's funny. I find I can listen and give advice to my friends who seek it, but my words to myself are lost on me.

In one ear, out the other?

Zooooooooooom! See ya.

Nah. Actually, I think it has less to do with listening to myself—I obviously know what I want to do, and even how to get started on them—and more about drive. Where in the heck is my drive? What I need is a swift kick in the booty. A forceful hand. A metaphorical slap in the face. I just need to grab myself by the shoulders and shout, "Oi! Snap out of it!" whilst shaking until my head lolls around and I do, indeed, snap out of it.

I can also look at this scientifically. Newton's First Law of Motion states that "every object in a state of uniform motion tends to remain in that state of motion unless an external force is applied to it."

This is good news.

Why? Because then it reasons that if I just force myself into motion I'll remain in motion. And, yeah, let's not mention that external force right now, okay?

That's that then. Next time I find myself plopped down in front of the computer, instead of checking Facebook/Pinterest/Email a thousand times (because I might miss something) I am going to open up my Google Drive and start working on those works in progress or write up a blog post. Next time I'm wandering around aimlessly I will stop myself and find something that needs to be cleaned or organized (plenty of that after moving!). Next time I am feeling restless I will get it out of my system by getting in some kind of workout. Next time I am feeling stressed and/or extra introverted I'll open up to a fresh journal page and jot down my deepest thoughts, or quiet my soul in prayer/meditation.

And so on.

You see where I'm going with this. Enough of the lollygagging and enough of the indecision.

I can do this. This ennui is just temporary.

It's time to get started.

Time for...ACTION!

— E