Alone versus Lonely

Very different things.

Photo by me.

I love to be alone.

I was raised on a backwoods hippie commune with only a few other children, none of whom were near my age — but I didn’t love being alone then.

I’m an introvert — a word I didn’t learn till I was in my mid-forties, or come to embrace until even more recently. I just thought I was shy, awkward, weird. For years I wished I were more socially adept, that I could talk more easily to people, especially crowds.

I’m a writer; there’s always a conversation happening inside my head. But I began writing as a way of filling the lonely, empty spaces.

Today, I greatly enjoy solitude. I love the quiet, I love time spent by myself. Reading is my favorite hobby. I dread the ringing of the phone…I pretty much always “forget” to turn on the ringer on my cell phone, darn, oops.

And yet I love people, I do. I have a multitude of friends; I have family I care deeply about; I have a marvelous husband, who I adore spending time with. We can talk for hours, which is great…as long as I get to go be alone afterwards for a while. Long enough to recharge.

I was a lonely child. I played by myself in the woods, like a girl in a dark fairy tale. I had little ceramic animals who drove around in Matchbox cars visiting each other — highly social…