alone in an aussie cafe

As my favorite podcaster and now author Eli Rallo explains it, there are two types of being alone: active alone time and passive alone time.

Active alone time is alone time we plan for and choose to have. Passive alone time is finding ourselves alone without anticipating it. Maybe we enjoy this impromptu alone time as much as we might enjoy a night in of our choosing after a long week, but often we find ourselves caught off guard, anxious, or sad when this type of alone time persists longer than we bargained for.

The first time I heard this concept introduced I felt liberated by it, it made a lot of sense to me. I’ve always been someone who opted to do things alone, I’ve identified as an independent person since my early teenage years. And yet, whether that alone time was active or passive, without actually being able to admit it to myself, I usually did not like being alone. Not at all.

I liked it in the sense that it felt safer and lower effort to be alone than to maintain a front I put on for most social interactions. I wouldn’t say I was always pretending to be someone I wasn’t, but I was always ‘on’. On alert, on and hypervigilant, on tracking my next step and next word to avoid conflict or ‘awkward silence’ or any other sort of mishap. It was exhausting, being alone felt easier.

This I recognize now has everything to do with my level of comfort with myself and not my level of comfort with other people.

Undoubtedly there have been relationships in my life that consistently left me feeling drained externally, but more often I was the one poking holes in my cup and continuing to pour more water into it wondering why it was leaking all over the place.

My inner dialogue would jab at me relentlessly: maybe I’m just not a social person… maybe I don’t like people…maybe I’ve been lying to myself and everyone pretending to be outgoing all these years…

The last one was the knockout punch that would leave me scrambling to distract myself from addressing the deep roots of this I used to avoid consistently. When I moved schools in the 5th grade I went from a relatively outgoing (albeit still anxious) kid to extremely introverted and shy. I made friends but always felt like an imposter, inferior, incredibly insecure.

This persisted for years, even as I learned to come out of my shell. I used to look back on this shy version of me with shame but I now recognize her as doing the best she could to feel safe. In my time alone these thoughts looped and stuck, round after round of self rumination beating me down.

I didn’t know alone time could be enjoyed. I engaged with it because I thought I had to.

Years of workouts on my own, appointments on my own, walks on my own, making time alone to journal and reflect, opting to be alone with my thoughts instead of call a friend because it felt…easier.

—

I don’t regret these moments, they were informative, and eventually they allowed me to discern what it means to be alone from what it means to feel lonely. But even when I wasn’t actively feeling lonely, the moments I felt peace let alone JOY while being alone were few and far between.

Enter therapy, with whom I’ve had an on and off relationship. Currently we are on, and it wasn’t until this summer that my therapist helped me to recognize I had been holding the key to peace and ease both in my time with people and my time alone in my back pocket all along. Yet, it wasn’t and still isn’t easy to unlock the door a lot of the time.

What if I stopped overcompensating? What if I stopped trying so hard to be a step ahead?

What if I let myself sit in the discomfort of silence both alone and with others - without making it mean anything about me?

I had gone a long time subconsciously believing that it was on me to entertain- my friends or peers or strangers on the street with my presence.

To entertain myself by packing alone time full of ‘productivity’.

What if I just sat the fuck down and got still enough and let whatever I was feeling come and go and in doing so created space for what actually felt authentic and honest and truly me to arise? Whether that was in conversation with another or through the intuition within me not spoken aloud but expressed clear as day in its own right.

At first this was so incredibly uncomfortable. So much so that I thought there was no way this was the answer, no way this was leading me towards peace.

When I sat still the anxiety I’d been experiencing and coping with by filling the space only kicked and screamed like a two year old having a temper tantrum. But like anything and everything, even the strongest waves of anxiety were temporary, they eventually subsided. When I sat through them once or twice I began building the evidence that I was capable of riding those waves again and again, like a skilled surfer I began to trust my instincts, to trust the wait.

—

I still have my days where the urge to fill the space and do the dance that makes me feel I’m in control of the flow of the conversation or pursuit of productivity wins out.

Little by little I’ve built evidence from times it has felt good to drop the act. To slow down and clear the way for more to come in by letting there be less for the time being.

I’ve recognized in the people where I do feel safe to fully show up as myself that being together feels like a breath of fresh air rather than suffocating on my own defense mechanisms.

Little by little I am cultivating more compassion and grace for myself and learning what rest looks and feels like from a place not of obligation but of regulation.

—

Right before the holidays I took myself out to lunch in the middle of the day with just my kindle to keep me company.

I hadn’t known the little Australian inspired cafe in the heart of the west village would be sit down service until I already had a foot in the door, and still almost turned around and found somewhere quicker, less awkward, more ambiguous when I arrived.

If you’re going to dine alone for the first time I couldn’t think of a better time and place than New York City on the Friday afternoon before Christmas.

It was a day I had already spent alone wandering the streets, ambitiously braving the crowds to complete my last minute holiday shopping while I waited for the best friend I was visiting to get off of work.

It wasn’t until I worked up the courage to ask for a table for one (they sat me at counter spot with single barstools by the grace of god but hey baby steps), that I was still enough to recognize the thrill of my situation.

Did I feel uncomfortable? Sure. But I ordered my granola and yogurt bowl, drank water from a cute glass bottle and matching cup, and read my book.

I tipped the waiter graciously when the time came because I felt so abundant and proud of the courage it had taken to get me in the door and then not bolt each time someone new walked through it and saw me all alone (spoiler alert no one blinked twice).

And when I finally exited after my short but sweet meal I felt triumphant, I felt magnetic, and I added that experience to the top of my list for evidence that alone time can be enjoyed, without being productive or planned or perfect.

Even if you’re like me and have never been to Australia or surfed a day in your life, you have it within you to trust in your developing evidence base, to trust the waves to take you to shore.