On a warm weekday afternoon in early October of my first semester of college, I found myself seated at plastic picnic table beneath a beautiful tree on my college’s campus. Surrounded by a dozen or so of my friends, all of whom were in various stages of preparing to head home for fall break, I was attempting—unsuccessfully—to study for a history midterm as the people around me were chatting energetically.

Obviously, I was very quickly talked out of studying as I was pulled into several spontaneous word games, discussions of break plans, and nearly coerced into a freestyle rapping session which I’m thankful to say I escaped from unscathed and with my pride intact. As the afternoon grew shorter, and the shadows longer, my friends began to depart, one by one, to head home via carpool or parent. The conversation started to die down, and so I attempted to return to my studying, with little success.

Finally, after most of my friends had left, it was my turn to head home, so, saying good-bye to the two or three of my companions who were still waiting for a ride, I put on my back pack, picked up my shoes, and walked across campus to my car. There was a great sense of spaciousness that surrounded me, as the usually bustling sidewalks were entirely void of students, and the air was quiet with the exception to the rustling of the leaves in the breeze and the breezing of semi-distant passing traffic. It was then that I realized the spaciousness that I was feeling was emptiness; I was lonely.

That might sound pathetic, unsettling, or genuinely caring, but for me it was just confusing. Having been homeschooled for my entire primary education, I’ve always been content to spend time by myself. Friends were almost like an accessory for me, people I interacted with when I was at certain events or in certain areas, or who I talked to online, people that—in the cases of my best friendships—I couldn’t live without, but not people who I thought of all the time. What confused me on that warm afternoon in October, as I walked barefoot across campus, was just how much I would miss my college friends.

Over break I went to visit some other friends and we went out to all the bric-a-brac shops in the area, thinking that having something to do would make this confusing feeling of missing people less prevalent in my mind. In reality, I experienced just the opposite; I was reminded of my friends all around me, in every quirky trinket, comical t-shirt, and obscure knick-knack. The act of perusing the novelties of second hand stores didn’t take my mind off missing those others who were not with me, rather, it gave me a better appreciation and understanding of the feeling.

I believe that friendships are the most important relationships we can foster in our lives, because I believe that a true friend acts not as an accessory to our personality, but rather a reflection of our character. To truly be human, I believe, is to give yourself to others in such a way that you see yourself in them, and you see them everywhere and in everything. I believe that you come to know yourself better when you let someone else have a part of you, and in doing so, let a part of yourself go. I believe in the importance of loneliness, not as a way of making us feel bad for what we are missing, but as a way of making us grateful for what we have.