I would say a good portion of my life I've spent alone. Perhaps because I'm an introvert I prefer my own company. Or maybe I find the 'finding' of company so tiresome.
Sometimes when I see people together when I do attend the occasional social gathering, whether a party or with friends at a bar, I wonder how people can keep up with everything. It seems for every situation there is an alteration in one's identity. I know for myself, I have to guard my words, censor myself depending on the company I keep. Visiting a particular friend, we can be intellectual. Visiting another, we can be artists and dreamers. Typically I prefer being a dreamer and it is closer to who I am but that doesn't say I'm less with the first friend should we stay geared to the left side of the brain when it comes to topics of discussion.
And the same for family. I am different when I am around my father as opposed to my mother. I keep a different conversation in my brother's company as opposed to my step-brother (though inevitably with him, discussions are secondary to the wine and should we run out, he calls it a night).
I always think of the stoic philosopher Seneca who said when "I go among men I feel less of a man." Seneca, like Arthur Schopenhauer preferred quiet and unfortunately for Seneca, he lived above a rowdy bathhouse in Rome.
Maybe it isn't so much being less a man than reducing the aspects or angles in which others can regard you. We can't help but be aware of how we affect people. I would argue it is a strength to be able to adapt to one's environment, change, find sympathy and harmony with varying crowds and individuals who can offer contrary and unique perspectives.
It should be said, those we love the most, whom we hold in the highest regard, they are the ones we can be the closest to ourselves.
But what about being simply alone? Though it may appear to be common sense, when we are on our own, we are supposedly the closest to ourselves.
Is this true? If we reveal bits and pieces here and there to select friends and acquaintances, work colleagues and family members, is there a limit to what we reveal to ourselves. How many of us feel happy alone? Is solitude a confining situation or a means to peace and serenity?
I always enjoyed what French philosophers like Pascal and La Bruyer have suggested, that merely the inability to be alone, unable to sit in one's room is the cause of all the world's unhappiness and unrest. There is a certain truth to this idea. Something to muse on, wonder about for what would the world be like if most of us stayed home on Friday and Saturday nights? I'm sure there would be a reduction in crimes, less emergency calls to 9-1-1. The E.R. at most hospitals would resemble calm doctor's waiting rooms.
Why else is there drugs to take and drinks to consume? It is not so much being unable to sit alone in one's room as opposed to sitting alone in one's consciousness. There is restlessness in our being, humanity cannot sit still and when it tries, it feels the disquiet. It all amounts to curiosity and exploration, wonder and boredom, loneliness and loss. Some philosophers would suggest we are all looking for a kind of home, a peace. Others would say we are just occupying space, going from one desire to the next. The knowledge we acquire is no more important to our general well being than musical theory to a squirrel. Despite all we've learned as a species, from the events of the day to the discoveries in science, much of what we do has a tint of mystery to it, not including the greater mystery that bookends our lives. And for what we endure, so much continues on unanswered shrouded in sporadic moments of beauty.
And this is where we impart value into what we do with others or ourselves. I think I've come to the point in my life where I can say I enjoy being with people but only for so long. I like to make an appearance, as most of us do but there's nothing like being at home for me, playing the guitar, watching a movie, reading a book, sitting down to write whether in my journal or another blog for the sake of expression.
That's not say I don't feel the disquiet.
I can look back to my memories of living in B.C. or even more recent living in my hometown and place them on pedestals. I can recall the afternoon I went to the Vancouver Central Public Library on an autumn day and discovered Ivan Bunin, the Twentieth Century Russian story writer. Without solitude I couldn't have enjoyed his works.
But then it only goes so far until I crave the company of others. And this is where I find the balance can be difficult, wearisome as much of my life I have only encountered select individuals who could share ideas with, thoughts. It is fine to meet people, connect in the moment but the real work comes in the continuing on, in the learning. I don't place any confidence in our technology to keep people together. It is the effort to be curious about each other that brings like minds out into the open. If anything, technology is another screen between people. I feel for people who heavily rely upon texting to be social.
For me solitude is my regular setting. The venturing out takes time for me, I have a burst of courage and wonder but then I lose interest inevitably and return to myself. I have a restless mind and I need new things to think about, I need rest from the crowds, from the Friday nights where in most social situations I feel more alone than I do when I am home by myself.
I suppose it all goes back to the idea of how and what we reveal when we are with others. Soren Kirkegaard once wrote 'the crowd is untruth.' And it would make sense because we all put on a presentation, our clothes matching the personality we have chosen for the evening. Who we are when we are amongst others isn't the truth, just a variation upon a variation of who we think we are.
Maybe I'm more adept at sitting still, sitting alone in my room but the disquiet never fully leaves, it doesn't think to abandon me and when the solitude wears, I know I have to change my scenery. Mostly I begin to pray that what I will cautiously approach next will offer something not so much to make me appreciate being alone again but more or less bring me comfort, a challenge, even a sense of brief homecoming.
