I’m not exactly sure how I’ve ended up on my own. It certainly isn’t what I wanted or imagined.
My family split into a new shape 15 years ago, after an amicable divorce.
The kids from my marriage have mostly grown up, and I’m cherishing my new adult relationships with them.
The youngster from a post-marriage relationship lives with his mom and her husband, and I do get to see him often enough.
Although they all visit, I’ve lived mostly on my own for the past few years.
It can feel very quiet, this isolated existence. Can I change it? How? And do I want to?
The indulgence of independent self-regulation, that addictive freedom of not needing to consider anyone else when it comes to diet, entertainment, exercise, travel, housekeeping, or budgeting, has shaped my life for years.
Add to that the evidence of a few aborted late-life love affairs, and I’m inclined to believe I will stay single for the rest of my days.
I don’t see myself as relationship material, even if I have lots to offer.
I do miss the magical intimacy of a partner, the non-verbal ease, the support, understanding, the reference they provide, the laughter.
There’s a taboo about loneliness, I think. I believe that loneliness is regarded as the consequence of some failure, that there must be something wrong with people who are lonely.
Loneliness might be held to be the just desserts for the socially inept, the mean, the person no one wants to be – or can be – with. The intolerable, the uncommunicative, the dastardly and the selfish.
Introverts need relationships too. And while I genuinely love the company of others, I discovered that I cherish my solitude and am mostly content with my own company.
However, this can become a habit, especially when the instinct to withdraw is almost magnetic.
At these times, I feel I ought to do the opposite, and draw closer. I’m not good at getting the balance right.
I never knew I was an introvert, until quite recently, and simply blamed myself for wanting to be on my own. It felt like a character flaw.
I’ve now discovered that it’s because my interactions are often very intense, and I just need to re-charge.
I work from home, and use a fantastic online app to consort with other people as we focus on our tasks.
Besides being a kind of rope or handrail that pulls me through the day and helps me structure my time, this is a balm for my mental health.
My daily swims and walks, when I meet with my strangers, and we sometimes talk, are no less essential.
I’ve just bought a property with one of these rando’s I met in on the beach a few couple of years ago. But that’s another story.
He is helping me come out of my shell, and seems to understand me.
And yet I ask myself why I haven’t nurtured the dozens of friend relationships that I might have had, over the years?
Why have I let so many friendships wither on the vine? Why do I not have a single friend from high school?
But even then I was pulling back. I see it now. It’s not like no-one has reached out subsequently. They have. I don’t feel disliked, not at all. Just that something inside me balks.
Is it a fear of some sort? A fear of being known? Some low-grade shame? A judgemental nature? Or a feeling of insufficiency? Perhaps all this and more, and less.
I tend to be hard on myself too, which doesn’t help much. Men, especially older men, are more vulnerable to the negative effects of loneliness than women, apparently.
As the new year approaches, and with it, a new home, a new constellation of space around tables and chairs, I have the opportunity to nurture, respect and cherish my friendships. To invite people in, regularly.
So instead of a date night, which people in relationships have, I’m going to have a mate night. Every second Friday. That’s easy enough, surely?
This way, both dormant and new friendships will receive the care of those older friendships I still nurture.
Perhaps I’ll even walk across the road to the tennis club and sign up as a paying member. What I do now about my social isolation will bear fruit in the decades to come, which I most certainly want to be alive to see. Because I actually do love life, even if it doesn’t always look that way to me, when I am on my own.