In our overly connected world we have lost the art of solitude; the ability to simply exist in a space by ourselves without the need or even urge to interact with other humans. The 20-something generation and the ones who have come after us are constantly connected in such a manner that it is almost sin-like to not be communicating directly or indirectly with another person. We are scared to spend time alone. When we ARE alone we are texting, calling, tweeting or posting. I’m not sure if this should even be considered being “alone.” We must spend time with ourselves every so often. To spend time loving and knowing yourself is, perhaps, one of life’s greatest victories.

Being alone allows you to take off that mask that we all wear. You know the one that is your “true self”? Or sometimes it’s the “fake it until I make it” mask. We can completely relax and allow our emotions to come forth. You don’t have to smile for anybody. You don’t have to worry about etiquette and you don’t have to wear a bra or underwear for that matter. Being alone allows us to love ourselves. We can finally focus on our own mental health and simply breathe. When you can be alone, then you can be with others without using them. They are not a consistent crutch, nor a means of escape. 

Some things are truly better alone. While they are also really great with other people I think that we should all spend time dining, sitting in a coffee shop, and traveling without any intentional company. By the time that your 20-something decade has come to an end you should be able to eat in a sit down restaurant by yourself and not feel uncomfortable. Of course, the first time will be awkward, but after a few more times you’ll come to enjoy ordering whatever you want and feeling the independence of paying for it yourself.  A meal is quite different when enjoyed alone. 

That goes for a hot cup of coffee as well. Coffee shops are meant for both the socialites and the lone wolves. Every so often break away from the pack and adventure on your own. Sit in a quiet corner of your favorite coffee shop and journal, read, or simply watch the world go by. I make a point of finding an obscure, organic, or beautiful coffee shop in all the cities I visit. I find sitting alone with a good cup of coffee and my journal to be the most freeing thing I experience. The quiet time you spend with your own cup of dark ambrosia may be the most important thing you do all week. 

I also urge you to travel alone at some point. Travel far and wide and, then, do it by yourself. 

I flew to Paris by myself last summer. I didn’t speak French and couldn’t even book a hotel room until I got there. It was the scariest and most incredible adventure I have ever been on. Paris stands out in my mind like no other city because I saw it alone. I chose my daily schedule. I chose what and where I ate. I didn’t have to listen to anyone complain when I walked an hour and a half in the wrong direction down the Seine. I got to truly experience Paris and determine what it meant to ME and nobody else. I now have the desire to return to that beautiful city with someone else and show them the Paris that I found. Traveling alone allows you to make the city or country your own. It becomes a place of refuge and not a place of escape.

Finding time to have solitude will lead you to greater independence and a greater sense of self. Put down your cell phone. Grab a journal or a good book to read and experience YOU. 

What do you like to do alone? How does spending time for yourself contribute to your overall mental health?

Okay, be honest, how many of you cried in relation to The Fault in Our Stars (TFIOS)? I will admit that I cried….once. A single, solitary tear slid down my cheek when Hazel gave her modified eulogy at Gus’s funeral service. Unlike the girls who fell in love with Gus alongside of Hazel, I fell in love with Hazel alongside of Gus. John Green created a young woman who was willing to admit the truth about cancer, death, and dying. This is the less poignant message in TFIOS. This idea that we Romanticize the dying and the dead. 

My dad passed away a little over a year and a half ago to stage IV pancreatic cancer. He was diagnosed at the end of June and started chemo in August. After six weeks of treatment his cancer had only tripled. At that point he decided to stop treatments and begin hospice. He passed away that October.

People talked about how hard he fought at his service. “Like, you are familiar with the trope of the stoic and determined cancer victim who heroically fights [his] cancer with inhuman strength and never complains or stops smiling even at the very end, etcetera? "Indeed," I said. "They are kindhearted and generous souls whose every breath is an Inspiration to Us All. They're so strong! We admire them so!"” And yet I couldn’t help thinking ‘That’s bullshit. He quit fighting.’ I wouldn’t go so far as to say that he gave up because I feel that that particular combination of words has a negative connotation, but he decided to live a shorter, happier life rather than a longer life of suffering.

“People talk about the courage of cancer patients, and I do not deny that courage,” but I think we do them an injustice when we Romanticize them. When we fail to recognize just how much they suffered. I don’t think it does anybody any good to lie about the situation or make it something that it’s not. This is why I love Hazel so much. She didn’t do this. She recognized that these lies weren’t going to make her live longer or leave a legacy among the masses. As Gus said, she wanted to be loved deeply, not widely. I only cried when I saw her character waiver, when she gave in to the societal norms and Romanticized Gus at his funeral.

When we Romanticize cancer patients we replace our memory of them as they were pre-diagnosis. We rewrite their story. By choosing to acknowledge their suffering we can remember them as who they truly were. As a father, son, and husband that talked too loud, and too much, but cared about each and every person he came in contact with.

Romanticizing cancer patients also provides an uncertain ground for the living to stand upon when grieving. We can more truly grieve when we come to our senses about the reality of the situation, as compared to constructing a false reality. You know what? Life is unfair. It’s not going to be okay for a while and, even then, you’re going to randomly break down somewhere because you thought you heard or smelled him. I think that we can grieve more genuinely and from a deeper place in our heart when we recognize these things. When we admit to ourselves that he suffered and now it’s our turn to suffer. You see, “that’s the thing about pain. It demands to be felt.” A false foundation of heroism makes our grieving shallow. You’re not grieving for the person you’re grieving for what you want them to be.

And when we have a friend who is grieving we shouldn’t say “I’m sorry” because, you know what, that doesn’t mean a thing. You should hold them and let them cry. You should bring them ice cream, and coffee when they least expect it. You should let them know you’re there by actually being there. Don’t say it. Just make your presence known and continuously felt. They’ll come to you when they need you.

“If the inevitability of human oblivion worries you, I encourage you, [dear reader], to ignore it. God knows that’s what everyone else does.”