Hey there,

Last night, I went to the cinema alone to see a movie about death.

I know, I know, what a grim way to start this piece. Boo! Bombard him with tomatoes! Tie his hands before he writes more gloomy stuff!

And yet, this venture tied together two ideas that have been ricocheting through my skull lately.

Here's the first of those ideas. It's about loneliness. The next one is about death and will follow next week or so. And no, it's not all doom and gloom. The great thing about walking through the darkness is that it gets much easier to see the light.

Screening: aloneness, loneliness, solitude

As I approached the cinema, a group of five or six people stood outside. They were chit-chatting, smoking cigarettes, probably waiting for another person. Inside, I saw more groups and pairs. The attempt to find people like me -- loners -- was in vain. It was as if there had been a sign outside stating, "Only groups allowed," and I was the only person who didn't see it.

Soon, the evidence that I was doing something abnormal gathered all around me. Even the popcorn was cheaper as a "couple's menu." The "love seats" were sold out. Going to the movies alone, I reasoned, is like stumbling into a bathroom of the opposite gender: there's nothing wrong with it intrinsically, but the dismissive looks and mismatched amenities will ensure you feel out of place.

The question is, why?

Why can something that's technically open to anyone -- like a cinema -- feel so oppressive and alienating when we don't comply with its implicit social norm?

One of my theories is that we tend to confuse being alone with feeling lonely. There's a crucial difference. While feeling lonely is the distress that arises when we don't feel socially connected, being alone is the factual state of being without company. Loneliness is a personal feeling. Aloneness is a neutral circumstance.

In this sense, loneliness is a lot more diverse than aloneness. We can feel lonely not just when we're alone but also in marriage, among friends, in large crowds. Aloneness, however, arises if -- and only if -- we're without immediate company.

And yet, somehow, we've narrowed down the lonely stereotype to a person who is alone. (It may seem pedantic to emphasize this, but once again, our concept of loneliness should also include people who feel lonely in the presence of their spouse, friends, or family.)

So what's the problem?

The problem with mixing up aloneness and loneliness is that we're far more likely to feel lonely when we're alone. As a result, our initially neutral (or even positive) experience of being alone turns into a distressful desire for connection. The more a place or event expects us to be in company, the higher our chances of feeling lonely. And once we shift from being alone to lonely, we also unlock the full range of stigma, negative biases, and health hazards that loneliness entails.

Sure enough, this happened to me. As the lights in the theater dimmed and I nibbled on my humongous bowl of popcorn, I went from being alone to feeling lonely. It kind of felt like going to a food festival after dinner: even though my needs were satisfied, the mere circumstances induced artificial hunger.

But then, just before the movie started, something serendipitous happened. One person entered the theater and sat down behind me -- all alone. A few seconds later, another person entered. And this person, too, sat by themselves, signaling they had come here sans company.

It all clicked, then. I felt connected to these people. Their sheer presence reassured me that going to the cinema alone is perfectly normal. It reminded me that my loneliness was just like the movie I was about to watch: an illusion, a play, an artificial creation. Besides, there have also been instances where I went to the cinema with friends and still felt lonely. So, ultimately, having company doesn't guarantee feeling connected.

Conversely, having no company doesn't imply feeling disconnected. In fact, psychologists often refer to the state of being comfortably alone as "solitude." It's when our aloneness becomes the very prerequisite that allows us to connect with something larger than ourselves.

I've had this insight before, but at that moment, when the opening credits started rolling, it hit me stronger than ever: loneliness needn't be resolved by meeting someone, not necessarily. Instead, it's about resisting stigmas and expectations -- and grasping the possibility that one can very well be alone without feeling lonely.

Until next time,

Stephan

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