This feels like one of the occasions for which I should set the scene of my current writing environment. I’m on the roof of a house boat on a lake in central Pennsylvania, underneath the moon and stars. It’s about 5:30am and I’m accompanied by an iced coffee and a Peanut Butter Kandy Kake Tastykake which doesn’t taste as good as I remember it. My wife, daughter and friends are (rightfully) sleeping soundly; recharging from and for another day of adventure. My wakefulness is not a labor of insomnia – I chose this. This is bliss for me.

I should also say that, if you haven’t read my blog before, I tend to… let’s say… add a lot of color to my opinions for comedic effect. Please take the following as lightly as it is intended and if you struggle with mental health or depression and are easily triggered, this may not be the article for you.

Here’s the thing: I quite honestly do not remember the last time I felt lonely. I’m sure it has easily been decades. Furthermore, I sincerely have no idea if the sensation of loneliness is something the average person feels with some sort of regularity (every week/few months/years?). I’m not talking about the chronic state of loneliness, the sort which becomes a defining part of a person’s existence; I’m referring to the occasional fits of loneliness one experiences outside of their typical realm of contentment. Sure, I miss people – if I’m away from my daughter or wife for too long I think about them and wish we were together. And I certainly don’t see my mom as much as I’d like to. I’ve had so many great times with friends and family and absolutely cannot wait to have more of those times. But also, being alone is utterly wonderful.

My *solophilia (yeah I made that up) has always been a part of who I am, but stealing time away from a raging toddler has provided a new layer of incentive to seek solitude over the past year or so. I’ve already described my current setting but let me also detail how it came to be. My alarm went off at 5am, which, thus far, has been the most stressful part of my day. I silently – almost ninja-like – dressed, slunk out of the bedroom, grabbed my laptop, poured a coffee and retreated to the rooftop (wait, maybe I am a ninja).

I’m only now realizing how boring of a description that was, but I’m leaving it in anyway. That’s my journey. The real emphasis is the payoff: wonderous, plentiful, sticky, sweet solitude (No, I don’t know why it’s sticky, it just is. Shut up). But why does solitude hold such appeal to me? At the most basic level, what is the #1 activity sought during social gatherings?… Talking. People love to talk and to be spoken to, while I love shutting up and also love it when you shut up sometimes please. It’s not that I think most people are boring either. In fact, most people are fascinating, weird, silly or some combination. It’s just that I don’t always need to be entertained and I have so much cool stuff going on in my own head.

Mentally, I just don’t give myself the time to dwell on the absence of people. It’s as if I have an automatic mechanism that triggers when I should be feeling lonely, which causes me to instead seek a peaceful, contemplative sunrise, or go to the movies by myself, or write about why peanut butter is the best. Or just stare… sometimes I just stare off into the distance and lose myself in my own thoughts. And if you’re wondering what a trip into my thoughts sounds like, here you go:

“I wonder how many toys are underneath this couch right now. – Underneath. – neath. – Is that suffix applied to any other root word? – Why is there no over-neath? – Oh, because of ‘beneath. Got it. – …Zodiac would be a cool last name… Bernard Zodiac III… I’ll file that one away.”

Yeah, it is absolute garbage but it’s also the engine of my creative process. So maybe that’s the key to my loneliness mechanism. Perhaps it allows me to take the loss of a loved one or estrangement from a long-time friend, toss it in the same mental stew which still contains the name L’Carpetron Dookmarriot, and produce something thoughtful or silly. I can’t seem to dwell on any one thing – it all goes into the slurry and emerges as something totally different, or either as the same thing but now part of a larger thing – like the blue cybernetic lion that just becomes Voltron’s shin when its peers all join together. Yes, Voltron is somehow still in the stew as well.

On an even more distilled level, I think my imperviousness to feeling lonely stems from having the privilege of knowing that I have so many friends and family who love me and that I’m never truly alone, so I might as well not get too down about any particular moments in time. Therefore, I suppose this really is an excuse to give a well-earned (but perhaps a bit strange) thank you to all of those people in my life who give me peace of mind. I love you and hope to be able to help you get overneath one of your life’s trials someday as well.

*Solophilia (n) so-lo-feel-ee-ah – The obsessive or almost obsessive compulsion to seek time alone. The lecherous enjoyment of peace and quiet.