The Transition Artist

Over the weekend my roommate was out of town, and for the first time since I’ve lived in this apartment, I was left home alone. When she reminded me last Thursday before she left that she wouldn’t be home until Tuesday, I felt that tiny, horrible bubble that rises in my stomach to signal the first hint of nervousness. It’s not that I was afraid to stay home by myself. On the contrary, I quite enjoy having alone time. The uncomfortable sensation in the pit of my stomach was a reaction to the realization that this weekend was a sort of test run for the quickly approaching date that I’m set to move into another apartment by myself, at which point I’ll have to test the line between alone and lonely.

There’s something to be said about this fine distinction between feeling cut off and isolated and simply being by oneself. As a direct result of living with a best friend, the question of loneliness hardly ever enters my mind. I don’t wonder who I’ll have dinner with or who I can tell about my day. I don’t have to think about what I’ll do next weekend or even tonight, because even if I have no plans, I’m almost guaranteed to have a companion that I can turn to. Rather than worrying about how and when I’ll spend time with someone, I typically have to make a bigger effort to carve out time for myself. Being that humans were created for community and relationship, I would argue that this is a pretty good problem to have. However, this weekend that wasn’t the case, but I decided to take advantage of that. Why am I afraid of being alone? I wondered. 

In order to answer my own question, I had to spend time with myself. A small part of me had to wonder if I was afraid of being alone because I was running from some part of myself, unhappy with who I am when I don’t have someone else there to assure me of myself.

So Saturday morning I woke up around 9am, grabbed a quick snack, and headed out for my morning run. Since this weekend was a time for me to break my routine, I decided to explore a new area of Paris and run to a park I had heard about. I set out on foot toward Canal St. Martin, and turned at the Bassin de la Vilette, which looks like the canals but is flanked on either side by residential apartments and a little market area. The sun beamed down at me, and a light breeze blew as I followed the water up to Parc de la Vilette.

After arriving at the park, I turned off my music and began wandering around. I listened to the birds chirping, and found my way into a bamboo garden. The park itself was constructed with various statues and industrial, modern looking architectural features that serve as small vantage points. As I walked, I stumbled upon a concrete, circular sound chamber, in the middle of which low, soothing pipe sounds can be heard coming from slits in the sides. I walked past the Philharmonie de Paris, and then continued on to the other side of the park where the Cité des Sciences et de l’Industrie (a science museum) and the Geode can be found, and took my time curiously peering around and examining the mirror paneled geode. As I ran home, I took time to note cafes and restaurants I passed that looked appealing. I took down dates and times for upcoming expositions in Parc de la Vilette, as it’s actually quite a cultural hub, and, smiling to myself, made my way back home.

After a quick shower and a snack, I decided to check out another park I had heard about but never visited called Parc Monceau. Parc Monceau is in the 8th arrondissement of Paris, and is well known for its beauty and allure to artists. Since it was warm and sunny, I decided to bike over. I arrived in the park with a backpack holding my camera, a book, a picnic blanket, and a picnic lunch. If I’m going to have lunch alone, what better place to have it than in a park? I thought. And so I did.

The day was mine in every sense. I had no where to be, no one waiting for me, no deadlines to meet; just myself, my lunch, my book, and my camera. I alternated between reading and people watching as kids played around me, couples kissed under trees, and groups of teens gossiped dramatically, before moving on to the Institut du Monde Arabe.

I hopped back onto a bike from a Velib bike station and rode right into the middle of Paris. I spun through Place de la Concorde, almost got hit by a taxi near Notre Dame, and got stuck in a group of other bikers trying to pass a bus on Boulevard Saint Germain before finding a station in front of the institute to park my bike. As I clicked the bike into the rack I found myself laughing, both out of relief (the near miss with the taxi was a little rattling) and pure joy as I realized that I had made it without using a map.

I strolled around the museum portion of the institute for a while, learning about the religions and histories of Arab regions until the museum closed, and then decided to walk down the street to Berthillon, the famous “fait à la maison” ice cream parlor that sits just across the bridge. I tossed all of my “don’t smile, the French don’t smile” qualms out the window and sat at a little table in the Berthillon cafe beaming as I ate my nougat miel (honey nougat) and pistachio ice cream. It wasn’t until I found myself talking to an American couple at the table next to me that I realized that I hadn’t talked to anyone in a few hours, and that I hadn’t noticed because I wasn’t at all bothered by it. 

After leaving the cafe, I wandered down to the Seine and plopped myself down in between a few groups of young people drinking to read my book again as the sun set. As it began to wane, I headed back toward the Hotel de Ville metro, and stumbled upon a free concert for the “Fete de L’Europe” (celebration of Europe). I love live music, so I stopped. And then I started nodding a little. And then swaying a little too. And then next thing I knew I was dancing along to the music, completely by myself, and entirely unembarrassed by it.

I could feel myself smiling at the people around me, and realized that I was happy because, although I hadn’t come with anyone else, I wasn’t there alone. I knew that I wasn’t a part of the groups that I saw around me, but there was no sense of isolation. I still felt very much a part of the community. I was enjoying my own company, in the company of others, and it was completely okay. I didn’t mind being alone most of the day because it gave me the time I both wanted and needed to sit back and process for a while. Just because I had no one to tell didn’t mean I stopped thinking things, I just thought them to myself and analyzed.

Though my time alone isn’t over, and stands to be much longer in the future, I’m starting to figure out how to escape that knot of loneliness. Alone is a physical state of being, whereas lonely is an emotion; and each can be avoided by choice. I know that as a relational being I will never stop wanting to share my experiences and life events both big and small with others, but knowing that I can also be my own best companion carries a comfort of its own. At least if no one at all laughs at my bad jokes, I’m still here chuckling.