I’ve finally come to a point in my life where I’ve fully accepted, and even feel at peace with, the fact that I might just be alone. Like forever.
It’s not that I’m totally undateable, although I’ll be the first to admit that I have many, many faults. It’s just that I have this thing. The thing is that I love my solo time. I can’t seem to get enough of it. No, like really, I even spent 6 months travelling alone and still couldn’t get enough of it.
It’s not that I don’t like other people, either. I have many friends. I love to socialize. I love to share a laugh. A good, deep, meaningful convo. A silent moment with a knowing smirk. A romanticized dinner for two over candlelight. A connective stare with a stranger.
Really, I do like other people.
It’s just that, somehow or another, I feel the least alone when I’m, well, totally and utterly by myself.
My solo time at Spanish Banks, Vancouver – one of the best beaches here, for sure – reminded me just how much I love to sit near the ocean, all my lonesome, and think about life. My life. My past. My future.
Maybe I’m a narcissist or maybe I’m an alien who was never really meant to live on earth.
Either way, it’s safe to say… and for once I’m proud for it to be true:
I’m just a loner.
And I’m proposing that all of us loners, all of us living on the fringes – either physically or emotionally – stand up for the strong, self-sufficient people we are.
We aren’t codependent. We aren’t lonely. We aren’t waiting to be saved.
But the best thing about being a loner?
We get to love ourselves, the most. Always.