One of the many quirks of Oxford is the collegiate system; for at least one year during your undergraduate degree, you live in your designated college, in which you also attend the majority of your classes. This means that (now that households and lockdowns are a thing of the past) it’s highly likely that you will be interacting with people in your college multiple times a day, whether it’s in the quads, the hall, the college bar, or via stressed looks in the library. I’d like to say that I get along with pretty much everyone at my college, and so I always enjoyed catching up with people I bumped into whilst going about my day. I didn’t realise how spoiled I was with human interaction until I left for my year abroad in the south of France last autumn.
I’ve had the opportunity to meet so many amazing people this year, each one of them with their own interesting story to tell. I don’t live alone – my flatmate does the same job as me, studies the same subject as me, and is an absolute pleasure to live with. I’m not even that far away from home compared to others on their year abroad, meaning that I was able to see my family for Christmas. And yet, there have been times where I’ve felt so lonely, even when surrounded by people I know and care about.
This loneliness was often exacerbated when I saw updates on social media from all my friends back in Oxford – you could say that I had a sense of ‘FOMO’, especially during the first few weeks of my year abroad, when settling in was proving harder than expected. Furthermore, most of my friends had chosen to go to Paris, and seeing pictures of them all together made me feel even more lonely. This isn’t intended to put anyone off from choosing the south; on the contrary, I think it’s worth the extra distance, simply for the climate and landscape, as well as the sheer warmth of the people and how kind they are to each other.
Outside of the college environments at Oxford, it’s much harder to spontaneously run into people that you know. During the week, I often find myself coming back from work simply to spend the entire evening alone, with any social interaction reserved for the weekends and planned well in advance. At first, I found this incredibly difficult, but the one big lesson I’m learning this year is how to enjoy my own company. This has made me reflect on many aspects of myself, such as what level of social interaction is actually healthy for me, and how I function in my friendship groups both at home and abroad. The result of all of this self-reflection is that, contrary to the start of the year, I’m consciously choosing to spend time by myself when I need or want to.
I’m going to make a distinction here between conscious and unconscious loneliness. Conscious loneliness is time alone which we choose to have, and it’s a good thing. I recently went on my first solo trip abroad, and I felt an increased level of connection with the locals once I was outside of the tourist-group bubble. If there’s a new film that none of your friends want to watch, there’s no reason why you can’t simply go by yourself to the cinema! Chances are there’ll be others doing the same thing, and if not, they’re going to be too preoccupied with their group to take real notice of your ‘alone’ status anyway. Deciding to do something by yourself, whether it’s travelling, a hobby, or an item on your bucket list, can be truly freeing.
On the other hand, unconscious loneliness is the type that sneaks up on you when you least expect it, and it’s more akin to the loneliness I described earlier. It’s the type of loneliness we all want to avoid feeling, and which leaves you with a profound sense of isolation. During these times it’s important to reach out to friends, family, and loved ones who can support you, even if they’re not with you in person. During the most difficult moments this year, I’ve been beyond grateful for everyone who has listened to me rant or cry over the phone, even when they’ve been busy with work, societies, and the general stress of an Oxford term. I often hesitated to get in touch and say that things weren’t going so well, but I never regretted doing so. I’m glad to say that these moments are occurring less and less often, and I’ve put this down to the moments of ‘conscious’ loneliness I’m scheduling in for myself.
I would be remiss to assume that what worked for me would work for everyone – people react differently in different situations, and everyone has to find what works for them individually. However, I hope my experience can show people that it’s more than OK to embrace being alone sometimes, as long as you can recognise when it’s time to reach out to others for support.