Garden of Solitude

I am alone a lot, and by "a lot" I mean virtually all the time. I have Monday therapy, followed by a walk in the park and grocery shopping. About twice a month I have lunch with one friend and now perhaps once a month I'll be having lunch with another friend. And once a month an in-person meeting with the members of my volunteer group. That's about eight hours a month that I spend in-person with other people. 

I also have a weekly Castle-TV-watching-and-chat session with two girlfriends. I text with two friends quite frequently, it sometimes turning into long conversations, and I IM with three friends, at least with one once a day. That and a once a month teleconference meeting with my volunteer group adds up to about the same amount of time, although sometimes it's more, depending on whether my friends feel like talking more often or for longer. Plus, I get comments on my blog, which although not interactive still feels comforting and like I have people nearby to turn to.

I used to feel very lonely because of all this solitude; and I have had varying amounts of it, too. But lately it doesn't bother me except once in a while. Perhaps it means I'm more accustomed to being alone now. Perhaps it means that this amount of interaction is enough to get my needs met. Certainly once I've had a lot more interaction, such as when I go visit friends and am surrounded by people for long amounts of time, I have to rest when I come home. Unfortunately, I think that this reaction is a result of my being so much alone. I have become less tolerant of social interaction as an introvert with little to keep my social muscles strong. It's not a good thing for an introvert to spend too little time with people anymore than it's a good thing for her to spend too much time. If I went to a job even a couple of times a week it would help build up my people-tolerance. Going to the mall a couple of times a week might help, too, but that would be just a little too much, given that it is now December and the Christmas shopping frenzy has begun.

Another reason I may be more comfortable with my solitude is that I was fairly solitary as a child. The only children close to my age on my block were boys and they tolerated my presence in randomly variable amounts. Aside from school, I spent a lot of time doing quiet things I could do by myself: read, write, draw, ride my bike, and rollerskate around the cul de sac. I was not an unhappy child, but I might have been more gregarious given the opportunity. I became more solitary at school, too, once the big social group of girls tossed me out on my ear in fourth grade (long, cruel story).

It is possible that I have rebuilt my fortress of solitude that protects me from being hurt. My previous therapist discovered it when I completely fell apart after my cat died: the fortress also fell apart and for the first time in six years, my therapist realized I wasn't superficial, that I had depths. Apparently my own personal protective fortress, which I had built mentally but didn't think was working, made me appear about two inches deep, even to a trained professional. I've tried to not rebuild it even though being vulnerable sometimes freaks me out, but I've decided to go with staying vulnerable, which both my previous and current therapists swear is better for me and is a strong thing.

It's also possible that I've simply become so comfortable with myself finally that I am good enough company, combined with what face-to-face and digital interaction I get. It isn't enough to increase my social- and sensory-tolerance, but it's enough to keep me content and well-oriented with the world.

All of these theories (and I love theories) are believable and reasonable. However, I find the last one feels the most right. Given that I am a tactile and kinesthetic learner and communicator, "feels the most right" also makes the most sense to me. Therefore, I choose the last theory as to why my isolation doesn't bother me so much anymore. Instead of a fortress of solitude that keeps other people out and me in, perhaps I've adapted it to a garden of solitude, where there's a gate and I can see out and others can see in, where I can invite others in if I choose to.

And the evidence keeps piling up for grasping that next trapeze. I think I will. Would you like to join me in my garden?