I’m writing this from a hidden, second-story coffee shop that I chanced to come across as I was walking through Yeonnam-dong. The weather today is so deliciously warm and spring-like; and the windows and doors have been thrown completely open to welcome in trailing bits of wind. Sun and shadow have stamped themselves on the concrete staircase hugging the building outside. Beyond lies a framed portrait of the hidden back roads of Seoul. When I first peeked in, the place seemed deserted, unoccupied wooden tables and chairs the only inhabitants. But it’s incredibly peaceful. I like this cafe; it’s one of the scarce few I’ve been to that doesn’t play awful music. I think I’ll be coming back here.
Recently, I’ve been craving my own company. I don’t mean to say that I don’t enjoy being with other people; nor do I avoid or shun social situations – I simply mean that I have come to feel completely comfortable and content by myself. I feel I’m entering one of those phases that come and go during the course of our lives, and this one just so happens to be one where I seek my own company more than I did before. Spending time alone seems a treat instead of a punishment.
Perhaps this may seem rather unusual. In the eyes of society, being alone – whether only for an afternoon or in the more long-term context of a relationship – has the taint of a stigma. I feel like we’ve been subconsciously conditioned to feel like we are missing out when we are not with others; that the quantity of our relationships, whether online or offline, are valued more than their quality; and that constantly being with others or “going out” is a mark of success. We elevate increased social interactions, regardless of their intrinsic value, while solitude is cast as a symptom of failure. And yet how wrong this is, and we are!
Undeniably, there is a distinct difference between being alone by volition and having no-one to turn to; and the former is a definite luxury. But whether due to our almost incessant use of social media or the seemingly unceasing business of our lives, we have a hard time being happy by ourselves. We fail to recognise the opportunities that solitude offers, focusing instead – as with so many other things – only on its downsides, or what we perceive them to be. Indeed, if I search up synonyms for the word “solitude”, the first to come up is “loneliness” – a word defined as “sadness because one has no friends or company” – and yet “solitude” in and of itself is merely the state of being alone. That state bears no inherent negativity; it is merely our perception that gives it this association. As I’m sure we all know, it is possible to be surrounded by others and to feel as if you’re wallowing in loneliness, and the flip-side is also true: if you are comfortable with yourself, you will never feel alone, even if you may outwardly seem so.
So why do we fear our own company? Why do we seek distraction and shy away from confronting ourselves? We lose ourselves in the muddling mainstream discourse of social media and popular culture, and sometimes feel all the more lonely for it. I think spending time by ourselves can seem unpalatable for a number of reasons, perhaps mostly because it just appears boring – especially in an age when we are all meant to be entertained all the time. But time alone is really a time for self-development, and an opportunity to tune in to your most authentic and vulnerable self.
I love going for walks by myself that have no destinations; I love the time and space it gives me to think and feel, and for these thoughts and feelings to grow without restraint or boundary. I love plugging in my headphones and wandering down alleys without names and observing the details of life around me. I love getting lost and stumbling upon things I’d never how found if I had been looking for them. I love sitting in coffee shops, accompanied by my laptop and sheltered by anonymity. Being by yourself means going at your own pace, and there’s something so luxurious about taking one’s time; about living slowly and not having to rush, if only for a few hours. I’ve come to treasure these hours, instead of wishing them away in anticipation of something else.
Wednesday was election day and a national holiday in Korea. Free of my usual online morning classes, I decided to spend the day by myself and head to Arc N Book, a bookstore in central Seoul. Instead of taking the subway, I walked: an hour or so in which I could observe the smaller details of the city I so often rushed through. April in Seoul, and the cherry blossoms have mostly departed in gusts of white-petalled flurries, giving way to the verdant buds of mid-spring. The weather is turning balmy and warm, though unfortunately the sky is no longer blue as it was a few weeks ago; the fine dust has returned and at times the light in the city is grainy… and yet despite this, it all seemed so beautiful. I arrived at my destination: hushed and mostly empty, occupied by a scarce few with noses hidden behind novels or magazines. A haven of books, mostly inaccessible to me as of yet because of the language barrier, but a haven nonetheless. I brushed the covers of slim novels and with my eyes, soaking up the atmosphere before sitting down to take out my notebook.
A sketch and a few jotted scraps of ideas later, I packed up and walked to Cheongyecheon, a small stream running through the centre of the city. On my way a cafe with a second-story opened wide over the stream caught my eye, and I took the spontaneous decision to take camp there briefly. I think I was made to live in a perpetual state of spring and absence of responsibility, with only a coffee and a laptop or notebook to keep me company; for it’s at times such as these that I feel most at peace. Likewise it’s in moments spent outside in waning sunshine, drawing what’s front of me that I feel I belong, as I did afterwards at Cheongyecheon. I know not everyone is in a position to indulge in the exploration of cities or wander aimlessly outside at the present moment, but the essence of what made this day so perfect to me was in spending time doing what I wanted, at my own pace; indulging my inner desires on my own, without having to rely on or please anyone else.
I think it is so important to feel comfortable with ourselves and to do so without external validation from others – and I think the key to doing this lies in being kind to oneself. We are always the first to point out our flaws and to criticise ourselves for not being perfect, although we are all aware of the ridiculousness and impossibility of being so. I’m most definitely guilty of this, but lately two things have helped me alter my attitude towards my life and how I treat myself.
The first is conjuring an image of my child-self, of perhaps six or seven years of age, and conflating this child-self with my current self. I’m sure I’m not the only one who experiences feelings of tenderness and nostalgia towards my younger self, and also of guilt at how I’ve treated her as I’ve grown up. The impulse to criticise oneself becomes much more difficult if you imagine yourself as a child, because saying mean and hurtful things to a child seems far more heartbreaking than merely saying them to yourself. You would worry about whether a child is eating properly, sleeping properly or getting enough exercise; you would not push them beyond their limits; you would want to look after and care for them; and this is how we should be treating ourselves, even now. Once you realise that this inner child still exists in all its fragility and sensitivity and potential to grow, I think you’ll find it’s a lot easier to be kinder to yourself.
The second thing that has refocused my outlook lately is a quote I subconsciously paraphrased, having heard in it passing: “Edit your life frequently and ruthlessly, for it is your masterpiece.” As a disclaimer, I realise that quotes can be either the most mundane strings of words or incredibly inspirational vehicles of purpose, depending on the reader and their own experiences. Yet though I normally tend to view quotes as belonging to the former rather than latter category, this one caused me to think. Perhaps it is only my present circumstance that made it resonate with me, but it contains within it a nugget of insight that I had never fully processed before: the fact that our lives are, in fact, our own; and while it may sound obvious, it is too often that we live our lives according to the opinions and judgements of others. How many times have I refrained from doing or saying something that was true to how I felt because I was afraid of what someone would say or think? And yet reflecting on this quote made me realise that my life is truly mine; that people might come and go, but you are the only common thread and constant presence in your life. Why, then, live your life for others, in accordance with their views and preferences? One should live one’s life to express oneself, and, like with art, strive to create the best version of themselves possible. Change behaviours of yours that you dislike; give in to your passions and indulgences; be true and authentic to yourself. One should not make art according to the rules of others, so why live your life this way?
This post has been a long and rather rambling one, but everything I’ve written is true to how I feel. We could all do with being nicer to ourselves and more appreciative of time alone, and I think that this message is more important than ever in times of quarantine and self-isolation. Please don’t get me wrong – I don’t mean to imply that social media or spending time with friends are polluting influences. Enjoying one’s own company does not depreciate the value of time spent in the company of others. They are simply different; like everything else in our lives, they should co-exist in healthy balance. Relationships are to be treasured, and should never taken for granted; and yet we must also learn to value our relationship with ourself, which is the most important of them all. If we all come out of this kinder and more content with ourselves and our own company, I have no doubt that the world will be a better place for it. After all, the greatest changes start with the self.
