A few months ago I found myself home alone on a Saturday night. As dusk approached I considered calling friends to see what they were up to but something stopped me. There was no shame in being by myself on what is widely regarded as the most sociable evening of the week, I reasoned. Though I didn’t really believe it.
As the sun slowly put itself to bed, I slipped on my sneakers and walked to the supermarket. My daughter was out and my partner lives several hours away and so, as is increasingly the case these days, I’d be cooking for just one.
I felt like a steak. And a massive salad containing all the ingredients I love but others turn their noses up at: radishes, fennel, sunflower seeds, dates, feta and a dressing made with tahini. I also bought a bottle of red wine even though I knew I’d only drink one glass.
Back home, I seasoned the steak and left it to reach room temperature while I had a bath. I lit my favourite candle, grabbed a novel a friend had recommended and sunk into the warmth. I’d specifically designed this bathroom so I could see the night sky from the tub. Rarely had I taken the time to gaze up at it.
It was nudging 6.30 when I returned to the kitchen in soft pants and a sweatshirt. Catching my reflection in the mirrored splashback, I noticed my face looked different. Gentler. Easier. As if having been granted a night off from make-up and social performance, it could just be. I smiled at myself. Isn’t it weird that we are blessed with the musculature that allows us to smile, instantly conveying warmth, welcome, happiness, forgiveness, acceptance and humour to others yet, without a mirror, we lack the capacity to turn that sunshine on ourselves. It’s a design fault: how much happier we might be if we could grin from, say, our palms.
I assembled the salad, cooked the steak, rested it and poured a glass of wine. I considered turning on the TV but I didn’t want to hear people talking. My job is words. Lots and lots of words constantly marshalled into sentences like a lollipop lady ushering school kids on a pedestrian crossing. What with streaming services, social media and Zoom calls it can feel like language has been put through a popcorn maker. Am I the only one who’s word weary?
But it wasn’t just that. For a long time post-marriage separation, I feared being alone. Family life may be depleting at times but the framework cushions you against loneliness. I’d responded to this newly configured life by being frenetically social. Back then I had no idea that to best enjoy the company of others, I needed to be comfortable in my own.
The fact is that all of us will be alone at some point in our lives whether through death, divorce or empty nesting, and while those with young children yearn for alone time, there is no question it will come. As my friend Kerri Sackville writes in her brilliant book, The Secret Life of You: “There is only one absolute guarantee in your life and that is your continued presence in it.”
Of course, few of us want to be completely alone – Tom Hanks forced to befriend his volleyball in Castaway is hardly a desirable state, and I doubt I could submit to constant silence like Elizabeth Gilbert in Eat, Pray, Love.
But I’m in awe of Gina Chick spending 67 days in the wilderness to win Alone Australia. Solitude and the deep contentment that accompanies it can be joyous, ceremonial even; a completely different state to the aching loss of connection that is loneliness. After that Saturday evening with the steak, I decided to diary moments alone rather than see solitude as a default option.
And here’s what happened. In recharging and reflecting, I didn’t just do things I enjoyed – reading, yoga, swimming – my thinking freshened. Ideas which are the lifeblood of my job came pouring in and I fell in love with words again. Freed from the blur of groupthink, I became clearer at articulating my emotions and, when I did socialise, I had more energy and empathy. I welcomed company whereas previously I’d been wearied by it. In reducing my time on social media, I also reconnected with the younger me who’d loved listening to stories on her transistor radio and daydreamed for hours and read poetry.
Solitude is not just an avenue to peace, it builds confidence because in being alone with your thoughts you get to test them. I remembered being alone in Italy in my 20s and the way independent travel heightens the experience. The olives seemed fatter, the people more alive, the colours more saturated. I vowed to do it again. Soon.
Now I regularly ringfence Saturday nights for myself. Fridays have an “end-of-week” vibe best spent with friends and Sunday afternoons are perfect for long lunches. But that night in between? Whenever possible, that’s just for me.
ANGELA LOVES
TV
In another life I’d love to be a great surfer so I’m loving Make or Break (Apple), a sports doco which mesmerises not just with the grace and athleticism but the back stories of the surfers.
Holiday tip
I always travel with a padded eye mask because you can never rely on blackout blinds in hotel rooms. I’ve had mine (Dream Essentials, $19.99) for years.
Book
If you read Prince Harry’s Spare, then augment it with Tina Brown’s The Palace Papers. A brilliant distillation of the modern royals.
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