As a child, I was rambunctious, to say in the least. My parents chalked it up to "hyper-activity." And yes, they may have been right, but reflecting on those years, my high energy stemmed from a desire for validation, for entertainment, to be around others, and to feel less lonely.
If you need something, ask for it-- My parents instilled that value in me, so self advocacy was second nature. In my naive childhood mind, I guess that meant one thing: If I didn't want to be alone, I needed to take action.
I noticed that the more I said and got involved in, the more people I was around. I became obsessed with perfect grades, joined clubs, and even played a few sports all the way through elementary, middle, and high school. Being around many people in varying environments helped me build character, hone in on my interests, and form my identity, but I started to use those who surrounded me as a means of validation.
My mom was right when she said: "Don't burn the candle at both ends." But, I was obliged to continue with all my activities because of my inherent urge to feel the comfort of company.
School in the day, clubs in the afternoon, going out with friends in the evening, practice at night, and homework somewhere in between. This pattern followed me all throughout school.
By the time I laid in my bed at night, my over-worked body sunk into my mattress to release some strains of the day, but the discomfort of loneliness didn't allow me to rest.
I struggled to slow down the fast pace of my long-winded days. No one was around to distract me from the insecurity that swelled in my head, but I was desperate for rest. Sometimes, I stumbled out of bed (not so discretely), walked around my house, turned all the lights on, maybe even got a snack-- anything to attain equilibrium. Usually, this ritual was counterproductive. All it seemed to do was annoy my mom and brother who were often woken up by my restless, late-night endeavors.
As I got older, this cycle took on a few different forms. I needed a way to relax before bed, but frankly, I didn't want to read a book or drink some nighttime tea. I slept more as I got older, but this wasn't "rest," it was the result of exhaustion. In fact, instead of creating a nighttime ritual to soothingly end my day, when I got to high school, I added a part time job into my mix of responsibilities. I worked in the public, so of course, this was a natural progression.
I didn't realize how heavily I relied on others to feel good about myself until their company no longer satisfied me. At the end of high school, I was still doing all my activities, "thriving" in the eyes of those who witnessed. But, I didn't do anything with the same energy, and I did not enjoy most of the things I once dedicated my life to.
College changed everything. I realized that I wasn't appreciating things the way I once did because I was doing too many things I only half-enjoyed. I was too busy asking myself "what's next?" instead of completely enjoying what I was doing in that moment. I missed out on some valuable and potentially gratifying experiences because of that, but I'm grateful I learned this lesson.
Today, I savor my alone time. In fact, I'd rather be alone in many cases. Don't get me wrong, I love the company my family and friends, but I don't need to be drowning in seas of people, doing more than I can grapple with anymore.
Being alone gives me the opportunity to reflect on my days, my actions, and my interests.
Being alone is my new form validation because it is something I can create for myself, which is far more useful in my every day world.
Being alone taught me I do not need to be afraid that I'm missing out, there is no need to be a part of every activity, and there is no reason to place unrealistic pressure on myself to be "impressive."
And best of all, being alone proved to me that I do not have to "burn the candle at both ends" to be happy.
For those reasons, I urge whoever is reading this to step away from the bustle of daily life for a few minutes and go be alone. It could change the entire course of your life.
