I spend a great deal of time alone. Most of the day on most days of the week, I am alone.
My office is down a grey hall with grey walls. I sit by myself each day listening to music and trying to complete monotonous, often pointless, work. I am alone for all but the 30 minutes I spend near coworkers on breaks. We don’t talk, really. The coworkers all have their social groups that I’m excluded from because I am female, or dislike sports, or too young, or too old, or am unmarried, or don’t have children.
I come home to a 3 bedroom house where I am the lone human occupant. My dogs keep me company. Dogs are wonderful company. I feed the dogs, do laundry, clean, cook dinner, work on a project, then go to bed and do it again the next day.
Although I am alone, I rarely feel lonely. I often feel that my life is purposeless but I feel that way because I’m not accomplishing enough, not because I’m alone. I feel like I could be doing more to improve the lives of other people…the world… and be of some benefit. If I weren’t meant to help people, why would I be unmarried and unable to conceive? I suppose I could believe that my divorce and fertility woes are merely unlucky coincidence, but it’s comforting to think I have been left alone to accomplish better things. Working in a grey cubicle all day is by no means a better thing.