All By Your Lonesome
by Kid Spill

Being by one’s self really shouldn’t instigate panic.  The absence of other flawed human beings in a person’s direct vicinity really shouldn’t cause anyone old enough to spoon their own gruel any complaint.  After all, people tend to be grating and self-absorbed and boring.  We complain about our friends and families and drivers in the other lane and the biatches at work enough that it should follow that we dig being alone.  As our favourite loner existentialist so aptly put it, “Hell is other people.”  No, thank you, Sartre, you clever bastard.

So.  In this era of post-internet self-reliance, and particularly during one’s chronological age of absolute freedom (early twenties, may you last forever and ever), it would make sense that people would be chilled about being alone - not just in a relationship sense (although the awesomeness of singlehood has become its own cottage industry of late, what with Quirkyalone, and the return of uber-single Morrissey), but in the manner of just. being. alone.

Despite this seemingly flawless logic, I have found that a huge contingent of my motley crew of friends refuse to see movies alone, eat in restaurants alone, or, most hilariously, see a noisy rock show, wherein any communication between attendees is achieved by the most obnoxious sort of yelling and hand gesturing, alone. Being in a traditionally social situation solo might scream “Loser! With no friends! Seriously, look, they’re alone!” a little too loudly.  Thusly, instead of an all-consuming embrace of being alone and therefore not having to contend with other people’s idiot opinions of Garden State, it seems that an overwhelming amount of people are content to shuffle around together like club-footed packs of wolves.

I say, embrace being alone!  Revel in the lack of inane chatter and whims of other people.  Think about it- you’re better than them, aren’t you?  You are cooler and more interesting and definitely cuter.  No need to lower your stock with those plebs you call friends.  Really, being alone for any amount of time, doing something valuable, offers something of a zoom lens.  Who do you really want to be?  Who do you really want to be around?

Obviously, when the company of others is truly gratifying, it’s awesome. But I still think that I sometimes like my own company more.  No one else likes to read political essays from the 70s for five hours, uninterrupted except for the occasional pop of the tab on a can of Labatt 50.  No one else thinks it’s awesome to hunt for Dance Mix ’92 in used record stores all day.  And no one, but no one, likes to watch entire seasons of Absolutely Fabulous on a Friday night.  Except me. 

Comments? Click here to let us know what you think.