Being One
Lately I seem to have noticed how our world seems to be built for two or more. In supermarkets, packaged products rarely cater for one, the smallest table in a restaurant is for two, “is it just for one?” A identical holiday costing £1,000 for two, costs £800 for one. Ever tried struggling through a whole ‘family’ packet of crisps and drinking a whole bottle of wine, intended for two? No? Um me neither…
How many people live alone? In the U.K. in 2020, 7.9 million.“The ONS, predict that 10.7 million people could be living alone in 20 years’ time.” In my own age group, it’s on the up, “the number of 45- to 64-year-olds living on their own has increased by 53%.” (If only I had some of their phone numbers, I’d invite a few hundred of them round for a party.)
So what do we miss when we live alone? Most things are obvious ones, like conversation, someone to dine with, discuss mundanities such as, ‘do we need dishwasher tablets?’ ‘Where’s the remote?!’ The warmth and feeling of safety with someone lying beside us in bed. A general sense of not being alone in the world. A person to call on (who will care and help) when things go wrong like your car breaks down/you lose your job/you don’t feel well/you break a nail. Shared decision making, responsibilities, finances and bill paying. (There is of course a downside in living with someone, mainly arguments about any of the above) Less obvious is the fear. (“What if I die alone?” — I thought of this recently when I had my head down the toilet, being violently sick with norovirus.) The most surprising one to me, exacerbated by lockdowns and social distancing, is the lack of human contact and touch. Like many of us, in this country (remember, eightish million!) during lockdown, I was living alone, then when we were allowed a ‘bubble’ I saw my elder daughter for garden visits with no hugging, sitting two metres apart, it felt so counterintuitive. We’d then say goodbye, not touching and I’d turn and walk into an empty house. This very same house, a few months previously had housed two daughters, two step children, a partner and our dog for the previous six years. Imagine how many hugs hello and goodbye, proximity and ‘night nights’ in a week that was.
Touch can be just a tiny gesture, a hand on an arm or shoulder, a handshake, a hug, a kiss, sitting close to another and of course, sexual intimacy. A former colleague of mine who was isolating and couldn’t see his partner, said he had weirdly started to notice how intense the water in the shower felt, running down his back — almost as though his nerve endings had been forced into hibernating and were awoken up by the touch of anything. So with zero touch in his life, this faint sensation became heightened. I felt like this at the hairdresser after a year since my last visit (and a few very interesting home haircuts.) At the risk of sounding a bit pervy, the head massage with conditioner was more than the sum of it’s parts, just heavenly. I walked out of there with the usual lift a haircut will give you and the added, slightly confusing, relief at having been touched. Jeeze, how did I get to this point!?
For every pang of emptiness I have, another person, locked in a house with a cast of thousands, has a stab of irritation towards someone they live with, everyone working and schooling from home, may an ache for a bit of peace, a moment alone. Some, sadly locked down in a dangerous situation who would give anything to be in my privileged, safe and comfortable position.
The way I see it is we all have a shoebox sized box, filled to the brim with our life. In there, are our worries and our joys. All the boxes are equally important. Some have boxes we are glad we don’t have, say a homeless person’s shoebox containing the worry of where they will sleep tonight and if they will eat. We might covet another’s so called problems, say a Monaco millionaire might have a box containing the very real (to him) taxing dilemma, checking the weather forecast and trying to decide which yacht to take out today. My own box is full of motivation to build a better, new life (all departments; health, viable business, social connections, adjusting to an empty nest, restarting my career) and all the tasks required to achieve it. I make a space in there to count my blessings, and try to feel hope, sometimes that requires a huge effort when I am really low. It also contains hurt, a struggle with the unfairness at how my life turned out, an aching loneliness and a pinch of ‘what’s the point?’ Motivation is hard to maintain when there is only yourself to applaud, if no one is there to hear about it, did it really happen? Of course it did but this area of my life needs work. I’m still like the child who needs the, look mummy at what I made pat on the head.
I suppose when I think about it I’ve always had someone there for me. Sharing a room with my sister, living with my parents and my brother, four grandparents, my first boyfriend, flatmates, then a husband and for the last twenty seven years, my first daughter and then the second. Motherhood is very tactile, you carry, soothe, comfort- all with touch. Like many things we only miss them when they are taken away. Think of Covid sufferers who lost their sense of taste and smell. When we are well, how often to we notice those amazing senses? We don’t think about them at all until they are taken away, this is how it has been for me with human contact.
“These days, it’s easier than ever to go an entire day without actually interacting with another human being. We use texts and emails to say “I love you,” we use social media to wish others a “happy birthday,” we do our banking, book our travel and order groceries all with the simple click of a finger. But the irony is, the more technologically connected we become, the more socially isolated from each other we find ourselves. Social isolation and living alone were found to be even more harmful to a person’s health than feelings of loneliness, increasing mortality risk by 29% and 32% respectively. This is on par with the risk mortality associated with obesity.” — Tony Robbins
In its most extreme form, the psychological effects in solitary confinement prisoners may encompass anxiety, depression, anger, cognitive disturbances, perceptual distortions, obsessive thoughts, paranoia, psychosis, even early death. Of course, solo living, even in lockdown, cannot truly be compared to prison life but if solitary incarceration can result in all these side effects it could be possible that living alone, not by choice, through eighteen months of social distancing could result in milder forms of the same.
Whilst us humans are social creatures there are animals that choose to be alone, (outside of essential activity like eating and breeding) including bears, leopards, moles, koalas, skunks and sloths. I’m having a hard time identifying with any of those, though I will admit to having the odd slothful day. I’m definitely over the breeding part but I would still quite like to hang upside down in a tree and eat fruit, with good like-minded company, it would be a laugh! (remember laughter?!)
You can’t outrun loneliness, but you can fill it with projects, you can make new friends and do all the inviting, but you can’t instantly replace those you have lost, the nearest and dearest, a partner who held you in their mind nearly all of the time you are apart, or conjure up a substitute for your late parents. Those relationships are rare and precious yet all we do when we have those people in our lives is take them for granted, we believe in a ‘lalala not listening’ kind of way that they will be there for eternity. We have all sailed around at some point in our lives with this feeling of bomb-proof immortality. Until, that is, something shakes that confidence with chilling reality. As we get older we lose a parent and as happened to me, also partner who just ups and leaves with no warning. The empty nest is a natural part of getting older and a sign you did a good job rearing your children. If you are my age you too, sadly, must have a few friends who were denied the privilege of growing old, or who even took their own life. Each of these times we are jolted into the world of mortality, good fortune departs, everything becomes stark.
I’m still figuring out how to get by in this new reality. Trying to thrive in solitude seems so very difficult and far away. I do a lot of the right things, joining groups (a beach clean, a walking group, a trip to the cinema) I do a lot of the wrong things, like heavy use of social media that just makes me miserable especially when messages go unanswered and ‘likes’ are no substitute for a call, real kindness, love or a hug. I spent five weeks in the winter in Shetland alone, followed by five weeks house sitting in Greece, I posted on social media, not one of my friends called me to see if I was ok. Perhaps if I hadn’t told my story (the edited happy version published on social media) More people would have got in touch. The so called ‘Freedom Day’ comes along with it’s promise of more normality but it seems that means everyone gets back to work and school, to their established friends, family, households and back to those full and busy lives (probably just so busy touching each other and taking it all for granted!)
I must remember I moved in a pandemic, only ten months ago, I am new here, self employed, so I work and I live alone. Everyone is busy with their own shoeboxes. I have to try harder to make connections and be patient.
Just keep swimming.
Or maybe I should get a dog?
