It scares me how comfortable I am being alone and independent
I’ve always thought of myself as a social person. Growing up, I had a few close friends, and I usually stuck with them. I thrived in chaos and activity. But somewhere along the way, things changed.
I found myself craving solitude more and more. At first, I thought it was just a phase, a reaction to the busyness of life. But as time passed, I realized it was becoming my new normal. I started to cherish my alone time, the quiet moments where I could just be with myself.
Being alone is different from being lonely.
Loneliness is a heavy feeling, one that eats away at you. But being alone, that’s something entirely different. It’s a choice, a preference. And for me, it’s become a way of life.
I wake up each morning and enjoy the silence. My mornings are strictly dedicated to physical training for space exploration. I have my own goals, ambitions, and work that I strive towards every single day. I take my time with breakfast, savoring the moments without the rush. I work independently, free from distractions, and I find that I am more productive this way. My evenings are spent reading, researching something new, or studying medicine.
Independence has always been a trait I value and I thank my mom for that. I take pride in being self-sufficient, and in not needing to rely on others. But there’s a fine line between independence and isolation. And sometimes, I wonder if I’ve crossed it.
There’s a comfort in being alone, in not having to explain yourself to anyone. I don’t have to worry about meeting someone else’s expectations or fitting into their plans. I can do what I want when I want. And that freedom can be intoxicating and scary. It scares me how comfortable I am being alone. It scares me because I wonder if I’m missing out on connections, on relationships that could enrich my life. I wonder if I’m pushing people away if I’m building walls instead of bridges.
I’ve put myself out there for more companionship, but after a while, I’ve pulled the plug numerous times when I felt I was the only one putting in constant effort. It gets tiring being the only one trying. Then, when I stopped, those same people reached out asking why I stopped. It’s frustrating and disheartening.
I’ve always been the one putting in effort in pretty much every relationship I’ve had with people. Accepting that not all of them last forever is a lesson in itself. For years now, I’ve been on my own, and it’s scaring me more and more if I can add a new person to my life.
I avoid making connections or friends where I feel it’s not going to add any value being associated with them.
The apparent new term is high-value individuals. I don’t have time for non-ambitious people or those who have nothing to life than outings, traveling, or drinking. Driven people attract driven people. Like attracts like. I seek connections with those who are as motivated and driven as I am. Irrespective of their failure, as long as they’re trying, I am A-OK with that.
I’ve also noticed that my standards for companionship have risen. [It was already high since school] I seek depth, understanding, and mutual respect. It was never about having a large circle of friends, but rather, having a few meaningful relationships that truly matter in the long run.
Self-worth was never measured by the number of people in your life but by the quality of those relationships. It’s about surrounding yourself with individuals who inspire you, challenge you, and support you in your growth.
While I’m open to the idea of new relationships, I approach them with caution. I understand that not everyone will align with my values and ambitions, and that’s okay. I’ve come to terms with the fact that it’s better to be alone than to be in the company of those who don’t uplift you.
I am far from lonely. Being alone has allowed me to find peace in my own company, and to be content without the need for constant validation from others.
I’ve learned to enjoy my own company and to find joy in the little things. I’ve become more self-aware, and more in tune with my own needs and desires. And that, in itself, is a gift.
While I’ll continue to navigate the balance between independence and isolation, I know that I’ll be okay. It means being at peace with who you are, finding strength in your own company, and embracing the quiet moments that life offers.
And for me, that’s more than enough.
