I know I've written about this several times, so I beg your pardon if this is sounds like an echo of previous thoughts. It's on my mind a lot though, and I've come to a bit of personal conclusion on it, for now at least, so thought I'd share.
I realized, recently, that this marks my 8th year of living alone. I last lived with a roommate in college in 2006. This is by choice, of course. I really do prefer living alone (nothing disparaging towards my past roommates). At the end of a busy day, the peace of coming home to quiet is almost a physical relief. Not having to consult with someone or make meaningless chatter is a big deal for me. But still . . . 8 years of living alone is a long time.
I spent time with several of my friends at different points this week and, as it usually does, it draws my mind towards comparisons. Most of my friends are married and/or parents. They've all been married for a good chunk of time and for better or worse, don't have much alone time to speak of. When I spend time with them, it's easy to slide down the slippery slope of feeling like they are all further along the life path than I am. It's easy to feel like they are all growing and changing, maybe inexorably past me. Sometimes I feel like one day, I may find myself so behind in life, I'll never catch up. I know it isn't logical. Not everyone takes the same journey in life and it's an exercise in futility to compare your life to someone else's. But I make that mistake more than I care to admit. I wouldn't call it envy, at least not on my better days. More than anything, it seems to be a vague feeling of helplessness that I can't seem to keep up emotionally and relationally.
When I observe the lives of those around me, I see their struggles. They are growing, changing, and experiencing life in a way that I'm not, through their relationships (married, parental). They are hurting, loving, frustrated, happy, content, terrified, neurotic, and above all, growing and changing.
I suppose lately I've been wondering if it's possible for me to keep up and achieve that level of emotional growth in solitude. It is very peaceful, but real growth is born through the struggle, or at least it has always seemed so to me. When I come home to my quiet, peaceful place, I occasionally feel a pang of terror; is this it? Am I always going to be this person, always alone, never changing, never growing, just this? Don't get me wrong, I'm not wallowing in poor self-esteem. I'm a decent friend (I can do better, always). I try my best to contribute in my family, although I could of course do better there as well. I work hard and support myself so no one else has to. I pursue the creative outlets that challenge me. I spend a considerable time in introspection, which hopefully results in a clearer sense of self.
It just seems as though lately, I struggle with the idea of being a whole person . . . alone. It must be achievable, I see others doing it. And I know that it is fallacy to believe that you can only be made whole through the love of another person. It is a beautifully romantic notion, but I shrink away from it. I don't want to listen to Ingrid Michaelson when she sings that, "They say you're really not somebody, until somebody else loves you."
I want to believe that I can achieve fulfillment, joy, happiness, and peace in life, even if I remain always in solitude. I don't want to be always waiting, hoping, that someone will come along in life to "complete me". I want to be complete in and of myself.
The only conclusion I come to when I get to that dark and solitary place is a quiet presence that tells me I'm not alone. A quiet communion with God that reminds me not to worry so much, because I'm never alone. Perhaps a gentle chastisement that I cannot be complete, truly, by myself, but only through Him. And ultimately, I believe that if I trust in it and believe in it, God will help me grow, in the midst of my solitude.
