We're Not Afraid of Loneliness. We're Afraid of Meeting Ourselves.

I was sitting in a not particularly good bar in Naples when I overheard the men at the table next to me talking about some woman named Irina from Novorossiysk, or maybe another city in southern Russia that they referred to as "a cheap Sorrento." They discussed Irina from a distinctly male perspective, then moved on to a film they had watched together, praising what they called its incredible editing, before eventually returning to the subject of sex.

And it made me wonder: did I choose to be sitting here alone, or was this simply where circumstances had brought me?

Of course, earlier that day, I had texted a couple of people who could have shared the evening with me. Not everyone. Only the people I genuinely wanted to see. Actually, people I wanted to see more than fifty percent.

I did not text the Finnish guy I had stopped talking to after he kissed me terribly at the end of an otherwise wonderful evening, even though I knew he would have happily seen me one more time before flying home on Monday.

But I am sorry. I simply cannot make peace with a bad kisser, guys.

A bad first sex? Maybe.

A bad first kiss? Never.

So there I was, alone on a Sunday night, wondering how I had ended up here.

I had not really been alone since I was sixteen. There had always been someone around. First relationships. Situationships. The man in my DMs I knew I would eventually sleep with next week.

Now I was not waiting for a message from anyone.

In fact, that same morning, I had deleted all my social media because I felt like a fish in an aquarium. It had become exhausting. Exhausting to experience myself through other people's perception of me instead of through my own.

I felt like I could not breathe.

And maybe when you cannot breathe, life squeezes you just hard enough to teach you how to breathe again.

Maybe that is how circumstances force you to choose yourself.

Through pain. Through that strange sense of shame that appears out of nowhere when everyone around you seems to be paired off, surrounded by friends, while you are alone. As if a single glance from a stranger is enough to make you feel like you owe the world an explanation.

Meanwhile, the guy next to me—not the most handsome man I had ever seen, but certainly an intelligent one—had moved on to discussing War and Peace and Bondarchuk's film adaptation. I wanted to join the conversation. I wanted to open up and say something. But I stayed silent, sitting in the corner with my glass of wine.

Maybe there is no point in trying to separate choice from circumstance. Because our circumstances are often the result of choices we made long before. Maybe I chose to be alone not today, but a week ago. Or a year ago. Or two years ago. I do not know. And honestly, I would rather not know, because it would not change the reality of that moment.

I was sitting alone on a Sunday evening, catching a few unkind looks from strangers.

Loneliness brings us back to where everything started. To our naked hopes, dreams, and fears. Without loneliness, we are like a shell covered in layers of barnacles. We are still ourselves, but there is barely any room left for us inside. Our feelings pass through other people and return softened. We have someone to absorb our fears and emotions so they do not seem quite so overwhelming.

When we are alone, we discover that the only person through whom we can process our emotions is ourselves.

At first, that can feel terrifying. It can feel like the kind of thing that might drive you insane. But maybe it is the only way to truly know yourself. To meet yourself.

Once, my uncle—not the healthiest person in my life, but one of the people I have loved most—told me something I will never forget.

We were sitting in a McDonald's in central Moscow, eating fries. It was the year before university, and I was panicking. I had no idea what to study or what I was supposed to do next. The decision felt bigger than I was.

We talked for a long time, and eventually he said:

"The best thing in your life is you. Don't you want to meet her?"

I saved those words in my phone. I made them my wallpaper. I read them over and over again.

But I think I am only beginning to understand them now. Now that I am alone. Now that I am sitting face to face with the person I am at this stage of my life. Not exactly a breathtaking sight, if I am being honest. I was not the version of myself I had imagined as a child.

But I was the version I had been able to become.

Given the circumstances.

Given the choices.

And I was not angry at myself for my mistakes. Or for the decisions that, in hindsight, were not always wise.

I did the best I could.

And I am here.

Maybe sometimes loneliness is the only way back. A way to remember what it feels like to be yourself outside the prism of other people's opinions and affection.

To give yourself enough time to hear yourself. To understand yourself. To forgive yourself.

And then to keep moving—not as the person you could be, but as the person you want to be.

P.S. By the time I finished my glass of wine, I already knew I would be getting my favorite fries from the little place around the corner.

And I knew I would be happy.

Photo © Addison Rae for Pop Magazine 2023 Photographed by Clara Balzary.