My birthday is coming up next month. I will be, by my count, even more ancient than I was last year. I’ll be far enough from 40 to make it irrational to lie and say I’m actually in my late 30s. I’m solidly, unequivocally in middle age.
And when you’re in middle age, you do a lot of looking back, soul-searching and other highly unproductive activities. I’ve been doing that even more thanks to being dumped by my girlfriend a month before my birthday. Yes, I am a 41-year-old man who uses the term “girlfriend”, a word that infantilizes me just typing it. What am I, a teenager sobbing to a Smiths song? In spirit, yes. I am.
At this age, I have a litany of failed relationships behind me, including a failed marriage that produced my eight-year-old son. I’ve had two breakups just in the last 365 days. And these were not flights of fancy. These were serious, with various “I love yous” and plans made and trips taken. I’m the king of serial monogamy, a sensitive nerve ending that sincerely tries to make it work even if it definitely isn’t.
The women I date are not that. They’re reserved, strong, and maybe a little bit unwilling to open up at first. Then there’s me crying over a sporting event or a perceived social slight or career stumbles. I think, what’s my problem? Why am I blubbering in front of this person who just wants to get on with life with a minimum of whining? If I had the answers, I wouldn’t be spending thousands of dollars a year on therapy. But at least I’m asking the questions.
In light of my latest “intimacy fail” and my looming birthday, I’m finding myself wondering if maybe solitude is the solution for all this personal chaos. Yet another obnoxious social media trend catching our idle attention is “loneliness influencing”. That means TikTokers posting videos of themselves drinking Diet Coke at home alone on a Friday night, telling the world that actually, this is great.
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A recent article in the Atlantic shed some light on the phenomenon, describing videos where people take walks, stare out the window, or back a frozen pizza alone. If none of that sounds exciting, that’s because that’s the point. It’s supposed to appeal to viewers who aspire to such heights of banality, while not feeling guilty about it. Thankfully, lonelinessmaxxing videos only show the positive parts of being by yourself. I haven’t personally found any TikToks of people clipping their toenails or drooling after falling asleep at 8.30. Part of why these videos are circulating so much is, I think, because culture has enforced the idea that being by yourself is socially maladjusted behavior, that you are a bad day away from becoming the Unabomber and fleeing to a cabin in Montana. The videos offer an alternative view: it’s OK 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 again becomes 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 don’t 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’re reaffirming that we do actually need validation. It’s just that it’s easier if the need only goes one way.
I’m 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 tad 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 like they need to be by themselves. I think that’s really wonderful, especially because if they stay home, that’s one less person on the road at rush hour or trying to get a table at the trendy restaurant I want to go to. Thank you for your service.
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But for me, that’s not what life is about. It’s 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’m not me anymore. I’m someone I think I’m supposed to be. I’m “fixing” myself by being shut off.
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I don’t want that. I want to be appreciated for the things I do well, but I also want to be understood for the things I don’t. It’s 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’s too much to ask for 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:
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“Here Lies Dave Schilling. He Had Unreasonable Expectations About Life.”
I can’t think of a better way to be remembered than that.
