On Being Alone Versus Being Lonely

I've done this all before: lived at the Lake, lived in the Farmhouse, worked in the gardens, the cabins, fought Pine Lake entropy without losing heart as best I could. And it's nice: I have the same yellow room as I did two summers ago (now flecked with red sparkles; the last girl to live here apparently pledged AOP), a pleasant view of the lake, quiet mornings or afternoons depending on my work schedule, and for the most part relaxing and somewhat fulfilling work: I get to help Pine Lake and the people who love it.

A few of my very good friends, and other friendly friends and acquaintances, are living here as well, either as other summer staff members (I'm in this category), or as summer research assistants.  We're scattered around the edges of Pine Lake--either in the Farmhouse or the Outbacks (with one exception)--the rest of the cabins are the meats and cheeses of this residential sandwich. Some afternoons/evenings I go to the Outbacks to hang out/watch a movie/eat tater tots with Shannon, or play board games with Andréa, or talk as the nerds we are with Kyle. It's simple, and neat, and good.

But there's a feeling I can't shake.

After a long day of work, I'm tired. If you haven't figure it out already, I an introvert. I need my re-boot time--my time alone to read, relax, think--just be with myself for a while.

Things that tire me, specifically my inner introvert:

• Being polite to strangers
• Making surface-level conversation
• Being in large groups of people
• Talking to people on the phone
• Smiling to let people know they are welcome
• Reading people to make sure they have Pine Lake's best interests in mind 

Things I do for this job:

• All

Before you get yourself in a tizzy, dear reader, let me explain: I don't mind doing these things. In fact, I pretty much enjoy doing all of them. I love hanging out with people--interacting with them and making them feel safe, comfortable, and happy. But it saps my energy like a succubus at feeding time.

I've been getting enough sleep. I've actually been a party pooper on more than one occasion on account of prioritizing bedtime. And I've been getting plenty of re-boot time--most mornings I have (at least) two hours to myself: I rise, make coffee, read...wake up slowly. And then my lunch hour I have to myself as well. Sleep and re-boot time: check.

And yet.
And yet I still feel off. I figured post graduation I would release a lot of built up feels that I've had to suppress because of the chaos of the end of the semester. Before the summer started, I was aware this might happen--that I'd feel out of sorts for a while. But I also figured being alone would resolve whatever funk I'd get into. Granted, it's still early in the summer--I've got a while to go, and who knows? Maybe this is just a two-week fad (my little raincloud didn't appear until after I began to slow down around the second week of June, in case you were wondering). I'm confident it will blow over. Eventually.

But, it is curious that "being alone" hasn't helped. It usually does--that's how my introversion works: a couple of re-boot hours and I'm set. So, if sleep and re-boot time isn't helping, where does that leave me?

I believe I'm feeling lonely. Not the high school emo stereotype (not to confuse loneliness with teen angst; I'm over that...I think/hope). The type of lonely that makes you miss a time or a place or a person. It's like yearning, but a bit more subtle. It's sort of tender and quiet, but it will move you when you weren't thinking of it--it whispers at you, to remind you that it's there.

The tide is turning; time is shifting. I just graduated college for Christ's sake! You don't know all the things I've experienced--every tiny, minuscule interaction: the smiles, the stories, the body language, the eyes. Or the monumental stuff: feeling infinite, feeling small, feeling oh-so old, feeling terribly young, feeling nothing at all, feeling tired, but feeling incredible in that tiredness. You don't know all the events: the firsts, the dishes, the pot lucks, the contra dances, the dinner parties, the bars, the townhouse gatherings and hang outs, going to fucking France!, the movies, the making of scones, the trips to Pie in the Sky, the Sigma Tau Delta stuff, every Fiction workshop, every essay, every infuriatingly worthwhile Writing Center interaction, failing and succeeding at being an RA, the bonfires, the sugaring, the island, every shared pot of coffee, every late night conversation, every late night conversion, every time I was drunk and ecstatic, every time I was drunk and sorry to be alive, every time I shared a cigarette, every time I walked from my cabin in the woods, breakfasts, indoor guitar music, magic.

SO MUCH MORE THAN I COULD EVER JOT DOWN IN A BLOG-POST LIST HAS HAPPENED. SO MUCH MORE THAN I COULD EVER WRITE, PROCESS, EXPLAIN WITH WORDS HAPPENED.

And now it's over.
So, yeah. I feel a little lonely.

I didn't write this to inspire people to console me. I'm writing this because I think it's a big deal; it happens to a bunch of people every year--graduating college--and it isn't like it's necessarily traumatizing, but it's a big step--a major change--and it warrants some attention. Life is one big transition. People are always dealing with change. Whether it's choosing to try a new dish at the Thai restaurant, or moving to a different country for a year, things change. C'est la vie. And I want to be present for it, for cette vie--this life. I want to be wide awake when it happens--none of this "wake me up when it's all over" Avicii shit (good song). And that's why I'm writing about it. Because when I write it all down, I can look at it--straight at it--and take from it what I choose.

I'm feeling lonely right now, and that's okay.