Next book — a massive effort
Was out around the Bay for a few days, thinking Book Thoughts. Am trying to get my second book off the ground, and–while I think I’ll ultimately write it–it’s feeling awfully sticky and unwilling right now.
Have you ever been in a change room, trying on pants, and nothing will fit? You try on pair after pair, and after a while you’re hot, and frustrated, and the changing room feels cramped and clingy. That’s sort of how it is with my second book right now. I think, if I just look at things this way it will work, or maybe that way, or I could try it like this.
And nothing really clicks. None of those pants, to torture the metaphor, really fit. I know this is part of the creative process, but it’s a part of the creative process I don’t like. I just want the next book to appear fully formed in my head. That’s childish, I know: Lonely was a long time in gestation. But I want the second book to fall into place now.
Am being a bit tight lipped re subject of next book, but it will be about loneliness. I just don’t feel finished with loneliness yet. And, yes, I will be asking for help and viewpoints and interviews — so I look forward to speaking with some of you who’ve been reading this blog. I’m just not at the interview stage yet. Am still kicking around with other people’s ideas, trying to find the story that’s mine to tell.
“How to be alone” video
I’m a bit slow in sending this out — many of you may have already seen this Canadian video on How To Be Alone. I don’t 100% agree that you can simply wind your way from loneliness to solitude, but You Tube is not the place for philosophical discussion. The video is nicely shot, and it’s fun to see someone dancing and dining out alone. Also, I like the birds — they remind me of my book cover!
Offline for a bit
A quick note to say that I won’t have email or internet access for the next few days. Please feel free to write to me or post comments, but bear in mind that you won’t hear back (and nothing will appear on the site), until I have access again. It will be a short break. Keep well!
A lesson in human connection
My town is not famous for much, but it is famous for having a HUGE staircase running from pretty much sea level to the top of something that could fairly be described as a mountain. It’s really seven or eight linked staircases, with rocky gaps between each set of stairs.
I was out yesterday, hiking all over the cliffs. It was hot, and I was getting increasingly tired, but I was at the bottom of what could only be described as a “U”: no matter which direction I went in, I’d have to climb up out of the valley. So I chose the stairs.
This was a mistake. About half-way up, I was weak; sweat and sunscreen were spilling into my eyes. I thought, I am not going to make it. I had visions of being rescued by helicopter, or water dogs, or a team of police. These thoughts were mortifying, but I could…not…keep…climbing.
So I collapsed into a bunch of bushes beside the steps and sat there gasping for breath. What was I going to do? And then this very nice woman (who was also out of breath) stopped on the stairs to chat with me. I was down on the ground, looking like the dog’s breakfast, but she didn’t comment on this. She just began to talk about the hot day, and the cruelty of the steps, and how out of shape she was, and so on.
And as she talked I began to feel my heart rate slow down. I’ve read so much on human interaction and physiology, and I began to think, “I’m in a social psychology experiment!” The longer the woman talked, the better I felt. My breathing returned to normal, the sweat seemed to ebb, and it seemed as though my legs might actually begin to function again.
The woman moved on, and I let her go, but I found that the effect of our conversation was to give me the energy and reassurance I needed to continue climbing. The talk left me feeling less freaked out and exhausted–and this was just a casual chat with a stranger. But I think it was exactly what I needed right then–not just rest, but communication.
The episode made me think again of how awful and sick and anxious I was during the years I write about in Lonely, and about how social isolation might still be affecting me today. If that little episode on the steps taught me anything, it’s that the social interaction studies are right on target: we need people around us, and their presence or absence can affect us in profound ways.
Reading, solitude, and reading “Solitude”
I’ve been toting around a very small book for about the past six years. It’s called “Solitude,” and it’s written by the British psychiatrist Anthony Storr. It’s probably the single best thing I’ve ever seen on the subject of solitude, creativity, and the importance of time spent alone.
I initially thought that I’d work Storr’s book into Lonely, but it never seemed to fit. And that’s because Solitude isn’t really about loneliness (though references to loneliness certainly do appear). It’s about being nourished by aloneness, about creative thinking, and about the personal flourishing that can occur despite the absence of social ties.
I don’t generally recommend books on this blog, because it’s a rare book that I think will appeal to the disparate readership this blog attracts. But I whole-heartedly recommend Solitude. (Note: in some countries, it’s called The School for Genius.) Reading Storr–as I just did, again, on this rainy morning–can take a lot of the pressure off of aloneness. It can remind you of some of the things you like about being alone, and it can reassure you that not everyone moves through life in the middle of a huge social circle.
The book won’t cure loneliness (no book does that, and don’t believe any book that tells you it will), but it makes for a fascinating read, and will help you to see aloneness in a completely new light.
Loneliness and work
I didn’t intend to blog today, but a post from a reader about finding sociability at work got me thinking. So many people find their best and easiest social ties at work, and there is nothing wrong with this. It’s completely natural to rely on work as a source of friendship and camaraderie — after all, that’s part of the appeal of so many professions, such as law or medicine. It’s not just the job, it’s the notion that you’ll be working with smart, creative people who will fill your day with meaning and a sense of connection.
I’m now struggling with the whole notion of loneliness and work. At the law firm where I clerked, people used to joke that they were “artists trapped in a lawyer’s body.” They meant that, while they were actually processing real estate transactions, they really wanted to be painting, playing guitar, or writing the next great novel.
I’ve always felt the opposite: I feel like a lawyer trapped in an artist’s body. I write, and I love doing it, but I long for the collegiality of an office job. I find it strange that my chosen line of work is so solitary — especially since my subjects are loneliness and social isolation. I’m often drawn to job ads. They’re sort of addictive. I’ll read them and think, I’d be able to socialize at that job! Or, I might have friends if I worked there!
I fully intend to keep writing, but I’m aware of the sociability an office, or factory, or call center can offer. I think of all the people who have lost jobs in this recession, and how this has left so many people so much more alone. There’s much more to be written on this subject, but I wanted to at least touch on it. This might be a strange thing to say, but when I feel isolated, I don’t daydream about parties. I daydream about having colleagues, friends who I see at work every day. I daydream about the sociability of work.
Study on social relationships and health
Well, the papers have been buzzing with news that relationships are good for your health, and that isolation is a risk factor equivalent to smoking.
I have to admit that I’m a bit mystified about all the fuss. The link between isolation and longevity has been understood since at least the late 1970s. Similarly, the risk factors attaching to loneliness (as well as the increased risk of mortality for the lonely) have been known for over a decade.
So why is this story getting blogged and buzzed and Twittered about? The risk factors haven’t changed. I think what has changed is our vulnerability to isolation. When the first studies of isolation and mortality came out in the late 70s, we weren’t so alone. It’s only today, with isolation on the rise, that a study such as this one is able to create such a bang.
If someone sees something I’m missing, please feel free to write and inform me. But there are whole textbooks written on this subject that’s being presented as “news.” Again, I think it’s our increased isolation that’s driving interest in this story, not the findings themselves.
You’re gutsy, too!
Was in Toronto for a holiday recently, and I went into a large bookstore to buy a gift for someone. The bookstore was entirely unlike the one in my town: it was glitzy, and bright, and filled with busy, fashionable people. I saw my book in the self-help section, and scanned the distance you’d have to cover to get it to the cash. I thought about grabbing a book called Lonely, and walking across the store with it. And I thought, “That takes guts.”
Many people have written in to say that I’m brave, but I think the bravery runs both ways. To those of you who have stared down stigma and grabbed Lonely at a bookstore, I say, “Thank you.” Until I went to Toronto, I don’t think I realized what was involved. Picking up Lonely isn’t easy, and everyone who’s done so deserves a pat on the back.
Casual sociability in the big city
Well, I picked a good time to travel from Newfoundland to Ontario: it’s about 100 degrees here, and I’m just stunned with heat. Aside from the heat (which is wild), I’m surprised by the number of people around. As I type, there are people walking down the street, and I have to dodge bikes when I’m off to the shops, and I can walk down a major road and see people sitting in cafes and restaurants.
There’s been an ongoing debate in the emails that have been sent to me about whether a city or a small town is a lonelier place. Both have their advantages and drawbacks. I like the solitude I have in Newfoundland, but I miss the ability to interact so easily — to brush shoulders with people, and listen to conversations in the fruit market, and watch people as they sip their drinks at patio tables.
Last night, I was feeling very much alone, and I said to myself, “Get out of the house. It doesn’t matter where you go. Just go.” And, voila, the streets were packed and I felt more cheerful, more included and connected. I’m not sure if this means that cities are less lonely than small towns — research on the subject shows that loneliness rates tend to remain stable from urban to rural environments.
I think what cities offer is sheer distraction. I know that distraction can become overwhelming, and that I’m enjoying the crowds on the sidewalks because I’m essentially a tourist. But bustle, when you’re feeling lonely, is nice. (I’ll write another post about whether the sight of friends at patio tables starts to cue envy — this hasn’t happened yet, but it’s still early days.)
Loneliness and solitude
I was on Wisconsin Public Radio last week, doing a phone-in show, and several people called to ask if I was pathologizing aloneness. Surely, they said, there was nothing wrong with being alone?
And I couldn’t agree more. It’s a bit tricky, since the word “Solitude” is now stamped on my book jacket in both the US and Canada, but I see nothing at all wrong with solitude. Some people can enjoy years and years of solitude without ever feeling lonely. And I don’t think the boundaries between loneliness and solitude are made of stone. Loneliness might “break” at times, and start to feel like creative solitude, while the best bouts of solitude can run off the rails, and start to feel like a grinding loneliness.
I think the difference is subjective need. If you feel content alone, that’s great — that’s solitude, and it can be an immensely rewarding state. But if aloneness is laced with feelings of threat, envy, insufficiency, confusion, and anger, that’s not so great. That’s loneliness.
I, for one, can veer from loneliness to solitude and back again in the course of a day. In the years that I write about in Lonely, solitude was not a frequent visitor: it was loneliness that I was dealing with day after day. These days, my loneliness comes interspersed with feelings of quiet inspiration. And I would never want to give those feelings up; I’d never dream of saying that anything was wrong with them.