“I know, let’s split up.” It’s the groaner moment in almost every horror film. The zombies, the vampires, the aliens are everywhere, and for the moment our heroes are reasonably safe. But they have to find the book, the exit, the crucifix, the spell, the silver bullets, the light switch. The obvious thing to do? Go off by themselves so they can be picked off one by one. You would never do this. Never.
Time for another in a series of Catch-22s. In the preceding chapter, we discussed isolation as a misery-inducing strategy. Here’s another route downward: avoid solitude at all costs.
Treat your entire life as though you were in one of those horror films, but refuse to make the classic mistake. Instead, obsessively surround yourself with people every moment. Create plans for every day, every evening, every weekend. Then create backup plans in case people cancel out. Then create backups for the backups.
Do this not because you love and enjoy these people so much. In fact, this strategy works best if you feel no strong attachment to the people with whom you spend time. Instead, do it to avoid the horrifying prospect of being alone. Treat solitude as a threat, a vulnerable time in which the villain can attack.
Who is this dire enemy, you might well wonder. Why, it’s you, of course. Your own mind. If you spend an evening alone, your mind will start whispering to you. You are alone. You are unloved. You have no friends. You never did. You never will. You are worthless. You do not even exist, really. A room with only you in it is an empty space.
Sitting alone and listening to this chilling voice sounds like an excellent misery-inducing strategy, so how might avoiding it lead downhill?
Easy. No matter how many social engagements you arrange, you will never entirely convince yourself that you are worthwhile or loved. Think how much effort it takes to book up your schedule. Others, surely, don’t have to dig so deep. Your friends invite you less often than you invite them. Maybe they only agree to your suggestions because they just don’t know how to say no.
Also, the urgent effort to avoid solitude will only convince your unconscious mind of the hazards of being alone. Like a person who runs screaming from a spider, your avoidance only serves to reinforce the fear. Rather than social contact being a preference, it will become a life-or-death need. You may sigh with relief that this week you have escaped being left alone, but will you manage it next week or the week after?
If you self-impose occasional solitary evenings or weekends, eventually you will rob them of their fearfulness. Having survived again and again, you will begin to see solitude as survivable—and perhaps even attractive. You will learn that you can read alone, do chores alone, exercise alone, see movies alone, eat in restaurants alone, pursue your interests alone, and nothing terrible happens. You may also discover that creativity, personal exploration, and learning are often best accomplished solo—that certain steps forward are only possible when you are not distracted by social contact.
Could there be an opportunity for unhappiness here? Perhaps, having learned that you do not need people every minute, you will become a hermit and spiral into misery that way. Alas, this is unlikely. By cherishing solitary time, a thirst for social contact will usually develop, making companionship even more welcome and enjoyable. The frantic avoidance of solitude is a more certain path downward.
So get out your calendar and book it up. Leave yourself no time for reflection or recharging. Should you accidentally find yourself with nothing to do, turn on the computer. When social life is lacking, social media can pick up the slack. Skate from site to site, using Facebook and Skype and Twitter as putty to fill the gaps. And if that becomes too tedious? Hey: avoiding solitude is what television is for.