I’m [Not] Tired Of Being Alone

Picking up a copy of TimeOut magazine every Tuesday morning has always been something I greatly anticipate. Hunched under the damp armpit of a stranger on the tube, I would hungrily flick through the pages, taking mental note of all the new restaurants to try, places to visit, exhibitions to attend, and culture to consume in the week ahead. It’s a ritual I’ve deeply missed over the past year, so I was thrilled to see the return of the physical copy again last week, piled up promisingly outside the station — a sign that the city is getting back to its proper self. 

Unsurprisingly, the theme of last week’s edition was socialising. The introduction, written by TimeOut London’s editor Joseph Mackertich, spoke of the past year serving as confirmation that humans are, indeed, inherently ‘social creatures’. And I agree: these unprecedented circumstances have certainly highlighted how our lives are, in large part, made by the people around us.

After over a year of social deprivation, many people feel more than ready for company other than their own — as Al Green sang, people are ‘So tired of being alone’. This government-mandated ‘alone time’ has transformed solitude into something inflicted upon us, that we’ve had to endure. By now, there’s been ample time to contemplate our life choices (if not more than once), read every book on our dusty bookshelves, and get intimate with our own thoughts, and some people have had enough. But for me, spending time by myself neither started with, nor will end with, lockdown.

Though I too identify as a naturally ‘social creature’, time alone is vital both to my ability to function, and my sense of fulfilment. It is something I actively choose, and carve out space for in my every-day. For me, ‘alone time’ isn’t confined to duvet days and voluntarily quarantining in my bedroom; I go out for jam-packed days in exactly the same way I would with another person. Some people call this being alone, whilst I would see it as enjoying my own company. 

As I’ve settled into my twenties, I’ve grown to realise that solitude is not something to be feared or ashamed of. There exists a misconception that a person is solitary because they are either antisocial or unwanted, which I believe is where the stigma stems from. But solitude and sociability can coexist; it needn’t be an either / or situation. On the contrary, I would argue that they actually enhance one another.

Since the easing of lockdown, people are going back to socialising full-throttle, with the emphasis being on gathering en masse. As the world opens up, my diary is filling up, with plans for parties, dinners, pub-meet ups, and picnics a-plenty. But it’s not just the socialising I’m itching to get back to. I also await the solo trips to art exhibitions; the unaccompanied adventures around the streets of East London, moseying down Columbia Road flower market, and then ducking and diving out of vintage shops and record stores; the afternoons spent hiding away in the corner of a coffee shop with a book in hand, undisturbed.

When it comes to the entertainment sector, though, it seems we lone rangers have been overlooked. Sarah Carson wrote a piece for the i Newspaper about the restrictions on purchasing single tickets for upcoming gigs and exhibitions, seats at sports events, and tables at restaurants. This is understandable — venues are trying to maximise their space in compliance with social-distancing regulations, and this is much easier when people attend in groups — but it still feels like a shame. Do we really have to drag someone along each and every time we want to go out? In doing so, we are making ourselves liable for their good time as well as our own. What’s more, the company of others is much more enjoyable when it’s out of choice, rather than obligation. 

There is a dizzying sense of freedom when you go-it alone: there’s no-one to please, no-one to entertain, no-one to dictate how much time you’re allowed or which direction you take. When you’re going solo, you are the curator — with free rein, licence to take your sweet time, and nothing to get in the way of you following your nose. Your positive experience can’t be tainted by the negative experience of another, and you are able to formulate your own thoughts “without feeling compelled to explain them or apologise”. 

When we are surrounded by other people — even though it may be subconscious — we are constantly self-editing, soothing egos, projecting outwards, and expending energy. So, for me, it’s essential that I have alone time to recharge my batteries and listen to the conversation inside my own head.

Coming out of lockdown, there is an implicit expectation that we will want to spend all of our free time with others. To be seeking even more solitude, may appear strange, outlandish, even selfish. But I crave my solitude now as much as I did before the pandemic, and I refuse to feel guilty about that. I don’t want to feel imprisoned within my four bedroom walls, afraid of what people will think of me if I venture onto the streets without company.

Although lockdown will have forced many people to spend more time alone than they ever would have chosen to, there will have been other people who revelled in the opportunity. Just as we didn’t need company all the time before the pandemic, we don’t need it now. Though regulations are making going-solo a little more challenging in some circumstances, we should all feel empowered to go out and rediscover the world on our own terms, if we so wish.  

So I’ll definitely be seeing you at the pub for a pint, and joining you for a late-night boogie (when we eventually can); but you might also catch me striding through the streets of London alone. And please don’t worry — I haven’t severed all of my friendship-ties over lockdown and turned into a Billy No Mates. I’ll be having a lovely ol’ time.