My birthday is approaching next month. I will be, by my calculation, even older than I was last year. I am far enough from 40 that it would be irrational to lie and claim I am still in my late 30s. I am firmly, unequivocally in middle age.
And when you reach middle age, you engage in a lot of introspection, soul-searching, and other highly unproductive activities. I have been doing that even more since my girlfriend broke up with me a month before my birthday. Yes, I am a 41-year-old man who uses the term “girlfriend”, a word that feels infantilizing just to type. What am I, a teenager sobbing to a Smiths song? In spirit, yes. I am.
At this age, I have a long list of failed relationships behind me, including a failed marriage that produced my eight-year-old son. I have experienced two breakups just in the last 365 days. And these were not casual flings. These were serious, involving various “I love yous”, plans made, and trips taken. I am the king of serial monogamy, a sensitive nerve ending that sincerely tries to make it work even when it clearly isn’t.
The women I date are not like that. They are reserved, strong, and perhaps a bit reluctant to open up at first. Then there is me crying over a sporting event, a perceived social slight, or career stumbles. I wonder, what is my problem? Why am I sobbing in front of someone who just wants to get on with life with minimal whining? If I had the answers, I would not be spending thousands of dollars a year on therapy. But at least I am asking the questions.
In light of my latest “intimacy fail” and my looming birthday, I find myself wondering if solitude might be the solution to all this personal chaos. Yet another obnoxious social media trend capturing our idle attention is “loneliness influencing”. This involves TikTokers posting videos of themselves drinking Diet Coke at home alone on a Friday night, telling the world that actually, this is great.
A recent article in the Atlantic shed some light on the phenomenon, describing videos where people take walks, stare out the window, or bake a frozen pizza alone. If none of that sounds exciting, that is because that is the point. It is meant to appeal to viewers who aspire to such heights of banality without feeling guilty. Thankfully, lonelinessmaxxing videos only show the positive aspects of being by yourself. I have not personally found any TikToks of people clipping their toenails or drooling after falling asleep at 8:30 PM. Part of why these videos are circulating so much is, I think, because culture has enforced the idea that being alone is socially maladjusted behavior, that you are one bad day away from becoming the Unabomber and fleeing to a cabin in Montana. The videos offer an alternative view: it is okay to be alone.
I see the appeal in embracing solitary life, especially past 40. How many more times can you open yourself up to another person before the inevitable crash, the painful separation, and the necessity of starting over become too overwhelming? Maybe some of us are nostalgic for Covid lockdowns, when the anxieties of other people were a distant memory. Plus, we now have all these tools for interaction that do not require us to actually try to love and be loved. We can just post a video of resolute and admirable aloneness and be rewarded for how little we need other people. Of course, by reaching out digitally, we are reaffirming that we do actually need validation. It is just that it is easier if the need only goes one way.
I am not here to tell anyone what they actually require to function. I have no idea what goes on in anyone else’s head. If I did, I think that might be a bit overwhelming, like Superman when he flies up into orbit to listen to the agonized screams of global victims of injustice with his hypersensitive ears. In fact, I applaud anyone who feels they need to be alone. I think that is really wonderful, especially because if they stay home, that is one less person on the road at rush hour or trying to get a table at the trendy restaurant I want to visit. Thank you for your service.
But for me, that is not what life is about. It is about being stuck in traffic, going to the busy restaurant, and sharing feelings that are uncomfortable.
I could sit behind my phone and soak up praise. I could work myself to the bone, then celebrate with a bad movie I pass out to on the couch. I could force myself not to cry. But then I would not be me anymore. I would be someone I think I am supposed to be. I would be “fixing” myself by being shut off.
I do not want that. I want to be appreciated for the things I do well, but I also want to be understood for the things I do not. It is fine to need, normal to want. I want to be loved for the entire human being I am, not the show I put on for the world. Maybe that is too much to ask in a society that prioritizes aesthetics over honesty. Still, no matter how old I am, how many times I fail, I remain hopeful that I can accept and give actual affection.
If I die tomorrow, please be sure to inscribe this on my tombstone: “Here Lies Dave Schilling. He Had Unreasonable Expectations About Life.” I cannot think of a better way to be remembered than that.
