Existing untethered between the fringe of blooming teenager and independent adult, high school graduate and first year university student, hatches a nervousness warranted by any period of transition. Particularly during my first days on campus, while adjusting to the frightening novelty of living away from home for the first time, I often found myself in situations as a fortified “I”. Grabbing breakfast at Burwash alone, attending Frosh activities solo, and visiting the bookstore accompanied by only my headphones. Despite the high likelihood that these feelings were shared by all newly arrived students, who were also separated from everything familiar, I found the solitude heavily disconcerting. I was alone. And to me, that meant I was lonely.
Eventually, my feelings dissipated as I made friends and bonded with others on my floor. However, emerging through the ruins of discomfort was a question that flashed alarmingly bright and monopolized all my brain space: why was I so unsettled by doing things in public alone? Even back home, trying a new restaurant, attending a street festival, or seeing a band perform were situations that necessitated a companion. I became aware of an active and unfounded stigma around attending events alone. Spending time in your own company is inevitable and encouraged. This much is evident in the myriad of wellness articles, books, etc. that, emphasize “me time”. However, when publicized and brought beyond the confines of private space into crowds and venues, anxiety and fear of appearing strange, abnormal, or a loner materialize.
What I’m slowly learning is that there is no shame in solitude. Although friends can be pillars of familiarity in foreign environments or someone to share experiences with, spending time alone is equally valid and worthwhile. Yes, there are copious health benefits, such as increased concentration. However, solitude adds an entirely singular texture to experiences. You have the infinite space of your own thoughts, the sudden convulsions of curiosities, and the spontaneous exhalation of self will, all of which allowing an interaction with your surroundings that is different from any spliced experiences.
Last Tuesday, I visited an exhibit on the portrayal of gender in Japanese prints at the Royal Ontario Museum. I was alone. It was wonderful. I then wondered how often I’ve missed out on experiences by simply fearing the stigma of public solitude. We are lucky, living in a creative hub, to have access to bar shows, movie screenings, and copious cultural events only a subway ride away. Solitude and comfort exist in symbiosis, a liberating realization. I plan on unapologetically taking advantage of these opportunities, both with friends and by myself.
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