The Paradox of the Likeable Loner
I have met a great many people through my work. I am, by and large, a likeable person. I don't voice harsh opinions, at least not at first. I have a decent sense of humour. I can take a joke at my own expense and crack a good one without giving offence. I can accommodate people who are different from me, or who hold opinions entirely opposed to mine. This ensures I am never short of people around me.
However, I am not good at keeping them. I never carry the relationship into the next stage, where acquaintances become close friends. As long as we share an environment, whether an office, a university or a social circle, staying in touch comes easily. The moment I leave that context, sustaining those relationships becomes a struggle.
Because of this habit, I have lost far too many people. People who were once close to me are now strangers. At times I regret the person I have become. I mourn every connection I have let slip. I have often wondered why I cannot invest in relationships. Am I that selfish? I don't believe so, because I have never sought people out for gain. I don't ask for favours. I don't mind doing one, but I seldom ask for one.
I have come to realise that the core problem is who I am. The personality I have, or the one I am comfortable with, demands solitude. It demands those sessions alone where I work on myself, my thoughts and my hobbies. Those sessions build the very personality people end up liking. Without them, I wouldn't be able to empathise with others, and it is that empathy that makes people prefer me.
Naturally, then, I prioritise time with myself over time spent nurturing connections, whether that means making random calls to check in or going out with friends in the evenings. I have cancelled more plans than I can count. Occasionally I do go out and enjoy an evening, but I am seldom at ease with external stimulation alone, so I cannot sustain that approach.
I understand that all the great stories involve an evening with friends. But for me, the person at those evenings is forged in the solitary hours I spend with myself. Therein lies the paradox. The person who is fun at parties cannot remain fun without time alone. Yet prioritising time alone means I miss the parties.
Inner and outer sessions are equally vital to nurturing a personality. You need companionship, and you also need to be worthy of being someone's companion. Without both, everything grows harder. The yearning I feel for more friends around me is really regret for all the evenings that could have been. They might not have been good evenings, but in my mind they held promise.
So, in the end, I realise I still don't want to surrender my solitude. Which means I must surrender my need for more people. My connections will always be fleeting, and only one or two in a hundred will endure. I can keep only a few good people in my life, people who understand my need for solitude. In return, I will take care of them by every means I have.