There is a significant difference between being alone and being lonely. Unfortunately, most people don’t understand this because their need for companionship is ongoing, and they don’t comprehend that someone can be alone for an extended period of time, such as a weekend, without being lonely.
For a time in my life, I would leave work on Friday afternoon, drive home and not see another human being until I returned to work on Monday morning. My co-workers discovered this, and more than one was aghast at what they saw as a horrid weekend. They tried to “help” me by inviting me to lunch or dinner on Saturday or Sunday and couldn’t understand when I declined.
I tried to make excuses, like cleaning, laundry, or exhaustion, but they always deemed my excuses as feeble and worked even harder. Their intentions were good, and I didn’t want to insult anyone, but I enjoyed my weekends. I understood that they couldn’t grasp that reality, and I certainly lacked the ability to explain it to them. Yes, I was alone. No, I wasn’t lonely. I wasn’t grasping for human companionship, desperate for interaction.
Over the years, I’ve learned that people who need people cannot understand someone who can enjoy spending an evening alone. I think it’s like morning people and night people. Morning people don’t grasp night people’s body rhythm. Similarly, those who need company can’t understand those who don’t.
It’s true; I don’t understand people who have to interact with others all the time. But I accept its reality. Their inability to understand that I don’t is what perplexes me. The people people are always concerned with getting me involved in various interactive situations because they know I really want to be included. They never get it that they’re wrong. I don’t need to be included.
My daughter gave me a T-shirt which has printed on it, “You’ve read my T-shirt. That’s enough social interaction for today.” Which sums it up pretty well, as far as I’m concerned.
It’s not that I dislike people; I really don’t. Mostly I’m indifferent. Of course, there are people I like and care for, but that doesn’t mean I need to spend hours with them every day. My best friend from high school is still as good a friend as ever. We live a couple of hundred miles apart. I talk to him on the phone a couple of times a year, write once or twice, and we see each other every two or three years. We’re still friends and are both solid with the relationship.
My wife and I have been separated by long distances for days, weeks, and months. We didn’t like it, but we survived. Were we “lonely?” Yes, for each other. But I wasn’t lonely in any general sense. I was only lonely for her and our daughters. Similarly, we were lonely for our daughters as they grew up, left home for college, and then had families of their own.
There’s a short story, “The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner.” That title has been used a lot as a metaphor for loneliness in life. The story has little to do with the psychology of running. And as a long-distance runner, I can attest that long-distance running is often done alone, but it certainly isn’t lonely. I don’t think anyone who found it lonely would continue doing it.
There are many runners who never run by themselves. They always have a running companion and enjoy chatting while they run. Such companionship can be helpful for the social opportunity as well as security. But these people also never run if they have to run alone, even in the safety of an indoor treadmill. For them, running alone is loneliness.
Most long-distance runners are perfectly content to run alone. It’s the running that matters. For me, a fifteen-mile run is a break from the daily maelstrom of people and conversation. It’s a chance to unwind, relax and think random thoughts. Maybe even come up with ideas for writing. There’s nothing lonely about it, and often I’m sorry when it ends. Not physically but mentally!
Why do so many people dread being alone? Are they such poor company they can’t rest with their own thoughts? Perhaps they don’t have any thoughts if there is no one there to tell them what to think. That’s scary.
I’ve had roommates who wake up talking. Their primary task for the day is to make arrangements with other people with whom to spend their time. They get concerned if there isn’t someone to be with every minute, all day, and into the evening. Their need for interaction is seemingly insatiable.
Alone: being apart from others; solitary
being without anyone or anything else; only
Lonely: dejected by the awareness of being alone; lone, solitary
These definitions are from the American Heritage Dictionary. It’s easy to see why people think they’re much the same. The key word difference is the word “dejected.” Look at the definition of “alone.” It’s a statement of fact. But the definition of “lonely” includes a feeling of dejection and, significantly, awareness of that feeling.
It should be easy to understand, though, that being alone has nothing to do with being lonely because being lonely requires “dejection.” One has to be bothered by being alone, and that’s when they become “lonely.” If being alone doesn’t bother you, being lonely doesn’t arise.
Please understand I’m not being critical in any way. I know that many people need to have company as much and as often as possible. I also know those people don’t understand those of us who don’t. They often seem to be afraid of our lack of need—like there is something wrong with those of us who don’t feel the same way they do.
It’s only important to understand and acknowledge that being alone is not being lonely. Lonely people need to be attended to. Being alone doesn’t mean someone is automatically one of them.