Some Ponderings on Being Home Alone

It’s a strange thing, to spend a long time on your own.

I’ll be frank – as a socially awkward introvert, it’s something I actually enjoy in normal life. I’m a nervous ball of performance anxiety in the company of other humans. When I do find the courage to speak, my ability to insert my foot into my mouth and wiggle it around is fairly legendary amongst those who know me and when I’m by myself, I can say or do whatever stupid thing I like and keep the embarrassment personal instead of public. It takes the pressure off.

And I like being at home. It’s my comfortable place, where I can relax surrounded by things I love and take a deep breath away from the outside world. My home is my little me cocoon where I can curl up and shut everything out for a while. It’s where I hibernate from life.

But the key words there are – for a while. Because it’s ever so odd that so often in life I’ve wanted nothing more than to be left alone to wallow contentedly in my own space indefinitely but as soon as I don’t have a choice in the matter, I feel a mighty urge to get out and see other people. It’s ridiculous by my standards, but it’s true. Perhaps it’s the simple contrast of needing to be reminded of their existence other than figures on the television, the sound of children playing in nearby back gardens and the disembodied voices of some distant neighbours having an almighty row about something or other late at night and keeping me awake for hours (I’d say I’m not bitter but... I’d be lying...). Or perhaps I’m more sociable than I realised. Perhaps.

But... life is what it is right now. I’m having little sparks of social interaction, by phone and Skype and online and occasional deliveries of necessary goods. And, it’s strange to say, but in looking around my home itself, I’ve come to realise that, in some special way, I’m surrounded by pieces of people that I love and reminders of the world how it should be that can take me into wonderful places and memories without ever leaving home.

There’s the table and bureau I inherited from my grandparents that remind me of wonderful childhood times spent in their home, granddad teaching my brother and I about garden birds, the smell of grandma’s roast dinners, playing Jack Attack on the Commodore 16. There’s the photo of my lovely nieces taken on my special rock in the Lake District that I’ve visited and had my picture taken on every time I’ve ever been there. My brother took that especially for me and had it framed to remind me of my favourite spot. There’s the comfy, familiar little settee that sat in my parents’ home for years (given to me kindly because I couldn’t afford a new one) that I can snuggle into and think of mum and dad. There’s the Harry Potter wand and assorted other charming gifts my best friend gave me – not to mention the door stop rock I picked up on a Welsh beach for the university house I shared with her and still use on my front door today, taking me back to younger, more carefree times.

Then there’s my unintended amaryllis collection, two gifts from two aunts that have split and spread into a lovely green windowsill jungle of five. My favourite childhood books still live sentimentally on my shelf (good old Dragons, Giants and Witches) reminding me of happy adventures when young, with the odd but pleasant sight of my own book now alongside them. My heaps of camping gear aren’t precisely a pretty vista but they remind me of the fun had at various medieval re-enactments. All of these things tell me what my life is and the people in it who matter, even if we are all a little socially distanced right now.

So I think what I’m trying to say is – even if you are alone in your homes right now, your life is all around you. Have a look at the things that fill it, find those happy recollections and let them replay in your head and you won’t be alone because the people who helped make those memories are always there for you within them or beyond. And then all you have to do is smile.