I'm standing at the crest of Signal Peak (more of a hill, really, located on a popular system of trails by my university), and taking in what may possibly be the most beautiful sunset I've ever witnessed. The oranges, reds and yellows clash so violently that the reverberations of their heavenly battles nearly shake my retinas loose. The sky is burning. A soft breeze occasionally tosses my hair, urging me to depart before the next summer storm comes rolling in. I cannot see Gunnison. I cannot see any sign of any human and for all I know, they've all burnt up with the sky. That makes this moment even more powerful, knowing that I alone got to feast on that view, got to hear the wind's gentle whisper. It gives me a sense of presence in this big, bad world.
I am a lone wolf. No, I'm not an introvert. In fact, I consider myself an outgoing, personable woman, and I love making connections with people. No, I'm not lonely. My life is rich with amazing, loving people. I'm definitely not a loner, a small word that's been so warped by its nasty connotations that I no longer dare to use it to define myself. The monologue of my mind is simply just too loud to be always competing with the voices of the people around me. At the end of the day, I would rather rock in my ENO SingleNest hammock and count the stars alone, that's all.
But it's hard to be so solitarily inclined in this day and age. We're always surrounded by the evidence that everyone we know is having fun with friends: Facebook check-ins and Snap stories, Instagram photos and Tumblr posts. Growing up, I'd see all this and be constantly prompted to add my own voice, so I assumed I was doing something wrong. I was convinced that I should live my life the way my peers did. And I was taught that when you're alone, you're lonely.
It took me a few years and more than a few low points to understand that I neither require nor desire constant companionship. Once I accepted this, my personal experiences were enriched exponentially! The bond I have with my friends and family is stronger than ever. I find inspiration and creativity in my quiet hours, where I used to only find sadness and self-loathing. A walk through the woods is always beautiful, no doubt, but it takes on a spiritual color if it's just me and the rustling aspens and the dirt beneath my boots. I go alone to movies, to bars, to restaurants. And my big plans in life all revolve around escaping from the people to areas wild and unknown, alone (my imaginary Malamute-Border Collie mix doesn't count).
There's sanity in the silence I share with no one. I need to be alone to find myself. I like to analyze my thoughts and reflect on my feelings, two tasks that are much more difficult to accomplish when attempting to hold a conversation at the same time. I've shared beautifully enlightening conversations with strangers and I've seen the most majestic views with friends. I wouldn't trade these big moments for all the "me time" in the world. But it's in the little moments, between class and practice, between that bus ride and the walk to work, when I know who I am.
