Time has flown recently... in a way that has completely shocked me. Not much has changed since I last posted. Work is still alright. This week we are doing an event off-site which means for two days I'm pretty much holding the fort alone and the other three I get to take a field trip to Maryland. I'm also working on my PhD applications, which is stressful in a way that I simultaneously hate and love. (Academia take me back.)
Instead of talking about either of those things in more detail, I'm instead going to write about being alone.
Since I graduated from high school almost nine years ago, I've done a lot of things--many of them alone. As an introvert, I am quite happy being alone. But it has been a process. Moving to Sioux Falls to go to Augie was the biggest thing I'd ever done and it quickly proved to be a great decision. As almost everyone does, I made friends at college. Great people who I've enjoyed spending time with. But I started alone.
As many of you know, after Augie, I moved across half a continent and an ocean to get a MA at the University of York. I met my favorite people in the world, learned a lot about history and the world, and even more about myself. (If you want to know more about my time there, I wrote a fair bit then.) With my friends, my people, I gained a greater understanding of faith, learned about Burns Night, found myself, fell in love with country walks, and saw the sun rise at 4am. But I started alone.
After a year at home, I moved to Boston, for another MA at Simmons. A move that, like the others, changed my life. I made more friends, more favorite people on my now full best friend tier. What I learned in Boston ranged from how to pull a perfect shot of espresso to the embedded racist-capitalist patriarchy in this country. I shared a lot of time with friends--commiserating at being underemployed and not understanding theory. But I started alone.
Four months ago, when I moved to DC, I did so alone. I've made some friends here and gone on adventures, which I've yet to write about. Some of my favorite adventures I've undertaken alone. This past week, I saw Straight No Chaser live.
Throughout this post, I've had a refrain of "but I started alone." This stems from a conversation I had with my mother the other week. I talked about relying on myself. And she mentioned that no one is truly alone and that "it takes a village" and "no man an island" and whatnot. Well, yeah ma. Duh. But that's hardly the point. I'm never actually alone and I have a rather large support network that spans continents. But without trusting myself and knowing that I have me, I wouldn't do half the things I do. I may not be alone, but in a city where I have at most two friends, going to a concert alone is pretty much a necessity if I want to go at all. Big stuff most definitely requires a village. But for the everyday things? I have me.
This is not supposed to be a sad post, but rather a reflective one. I text or message with my best friends all the time. My family's group chat is the most active it's every been. I have a village. But I am comfortable with myself. With being alone. I am my own best friend, wise counsel, whatever. I have support, but as with many things, support starts at home. I am my own home.
I guess my point here is that since 2009, I've learned a lot about myself and about feeling comfortable with who I want to be. It's been a process which I am certain is not over. I'm still anxious about taking risks (see PhD applications) or about trying to get what I want--that's probably never going to go away. Those are big things, what I like to refer to as "jumping off a cliff." For the everyday stuff? I'm a very successful party of one.
