When I went to Switzerland this summer I had plenty of time to contemplate living life alone. There was nobody to call in Zurich to hang out with until the wee hours of the morning. I couldn’t share a walk along the romantic Chapel Bridge at sunset in Lucerne. Nor could I experience with someone the amazingly steep Mt. Pilatus Railway that arrives at the top of Obwalden. Every experience is locked up in my memory. What a shame words nor pictures can do them justice.
Although a week of traveling alone isn’t a long time period at all, I’ve realized I fear being alone as much as I fear being broke. I did everything I could after high school to make sure I wouldn’t have to depend on anybody to survive. I’m not sure I can say the same for finding companionship since my family has always been there. It’s like I’ve taken them for granted. I’ve also never not been in a relationship since college as luck would have it.
If I didn’t take companionship for granted, I’d probably be a nicer, more patient person. I’d probably exercise more and eat less lemon meringue pie. I might even try and learn some jokes. Alas, I’ve got a ways to go.
Popping over to Mallorca after Switzerland with nine other people in a villa only buttressed such fears of loneliness. We literally went out every single night to unspoken amounts of fun. We’d sleep in the next morning, make us some jamon with slices of honeydew by the pool for brunch, hit the clay courts after and then relax on a nearby beach before going out all night again. It was one extreme to another, neither of which I could handle for an extended duration of time. But if I were to choose, I would select being surrounded by interesting people any day.