Recently, I was sitting at a two top table in my university’s center, reading Sylvia Plath’s "The Bell Jar," when a man approached me. A particularly kind and inquisitive person, he spent several minutes asking questions. He asked me about my life and family and if I had friends at school (he seemed surprised when I said that I did.)
He told me, quite bluntly, that I looked lonely.
I can certainly understand why he thought I looked so lonely: I was sitting with no one at a table that did not invite company reading a novel written by a woman who is notorious for being dismal and meeting death by putting her head in an oven.
But, despite my physical isolation, I was not lonely.
In August, I came to a state and a school where I knew absolutely no one. Needless to say, I have felt lonely countless times in the months since. This was not one of those times, despite my being noticeably alone with only myself for company.
I find that often the instances where I am hit with the pangs of loneliness the hardest and sharpest are the moments when I am with other people, but not truly connecting with them on a level beyond idle small talk. I have a distaste for small talk. I love being an introvert and consider it to be one of my most valuable qualities, but sometimes I regret not being born an extrovert.
Forging new friendships and opening up to people have always been exhausting and daunting tasks to me, but they were necessary to formulate meaningful relationships and connections. I value genuine relationships but am not gifted at conquering the awkward “getting to know you” phase necessary to build them.
When I am with other people, my lack of capability becomes quite clear to me. I can feel the potential for connection and friendship dissolving as I stumble over my own tongue and cannot generate the correct words to fill the silence. Thus, even when surrounded by people, I feel lonely. I witness others befriending each other with grace and ease, but cannot replicate their steps. I can only be envious of their ability.
Understandably, when my social incompetence leads to the dissolution of potential for friendship, I feel lonely. When I am totally alone, on the other hand, there is no potential relationship for me to fail at creating. There is no one else to disappoint. The potential for failure at human connection makes it possible to feel lonely in a crowd. Much more lonely than when I am actually, physically alone.
