It’s so close I can taste. The weekend beckons, everyone. And what better way to start the weekend right than a little ranting?

This week we looked at the idea of going it alone. When facing the prospect of a freelancing career, or the day-to-day reality of it, many folks are consumed with the notion that loneliness is a given. But as I suggested, many issues with freelancing are rooted in a fear of being alone and being completely responsible for one’s livelihood and success. It’s damn scary to be sure. But one can derive power from being alone, can feel liberated and invigorated and downright delighted by the idea of being one among the masses.

I also talked about going it alone with publishing aspirations, and how it’s even more petrifying to face the alone time that necessitates a novel’s creation and completion. But with the confidence from a few wins, even this alone time can be powerful.

Now let’s bring it on home. See, when I wrote about the central fear of freelancing being the fear of being all by one’s lonesome, left alone with only the thoughts (and voices) in one’s head for company, I touched on something crucial. People are desperately, painfully terrified of being alone, not only in a career but also in a bigger sense. The idea of living alone, of going to social events alone, of making the way through life with only a mirror and a cat for company, is distasteful. It’s horrifying. It’s something to make fun of. And if you’re a woman? Well the game of Old Maid wasn’t a success for nothing.

But being alone doesn’t have to be, and shouldn’t be, this way. And here’s a case study of why.

When I was in college, I dated and lived with a nice, perfectly fine guy. I was of the opinion that I was in it to win it with him, ready for marriage, kids, surname changes, suburban domesticity, big-ass diamonds, blah blah blah. So when I began to change, began to realize I didn’t want the things that were laid out before me like a yellow brick road to hell, our relationship suffered. We split. I moved out. And commenced a 3 year period of living by myself.

That time by my lonesome, while it felt like punishment at first, became life saving and life affirming. I was able to figure who the fuck I was: not who I thought I was, but who I really was. I was able to live my life for myself. I was able to rock out to Zeppelin and the Who when I wanted to, walk around naked when I wanted to, seduce who I wanted to when I wanted to (and kick them out after), watch 90210 reruns without shame, read feminist books and magazines without a skeptical eye upon me. I was able to think, to really take the time to think about my future and what I wanted it to be, to write and cry and smile and discover life on my terms.

When I met J, nearly 8 years ago now, I came to him more complete. I knew more about myself and what I wanted from a relationship. I knew what I didn’t want. So I was able to fall in love and make a commitment without losing myself. And since I’m still very much a realist, if a future of being by myself presents itself again, I’ll survive and thrive.

The point here? Being alone is not hell. Being alone can be powerful. It can improve your mind and soul, and the relationships you engage in. What’s shitty is the missive we’re given from society that we must surround ourselves with people in order to be happy and matter. What many folks can tell you is that being surrounded by the wrong people, and for the wrong reasons, can be much more lonely, terrifying, and deadening than truly being by oneself.

What do you think? Do you feel uncomfortable or at peace being alone?

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RANDOM LINK #2 of the Day: Been digging on the Best Of album put out by Radiohead this week. Here’s a blast from the past. Holy cripes, Thom Yorke looks 11.