The Evolution of a Misanthrope
20’s—aggressively and joyfully spends time in social situations, life of the party type, always showing up, drinking, lots of friends and acquaintences. A social butterfly.
30’s—a more focused group of friends, house parties, dinners and coffee, a divorce that divides friend base, maintaining social gatherings self created rather than discovered.
40’s—second divorce, a few bridges burnt with (now) former friends, social life is focused on finding a partner rather than a cohort, more time alone in the gym or creating solo work, keeping a larger group at an emotional distance following blow ups with sociopaths and grifters.
50’s—a third marriage, siloing life around this person, less and less available for social gatherings, birthdays with only her, home becoming a fortress from all of the people, a third divorce, a culling of friends now seen as untrustworthy, several moves, living single, few nights of any social life. Arms length to almost everyone.
Solitude, that most intimate of conditions, offers a sanctuary for reflection, creativity, and self-discovery. It is in solitude that the mind can wander freely, unencumbered by the incessant demands of social interaction. The great thinkers and artists throughout history have often retreated into solitude to cultivate their thoughts and hone their craft. In solitude, one confronts oneself, stripped of the masks worn in public, allowing for a raw and unfiltered engagement with one's innermost thoughts and desires.
Yet, solitude is not without its perils. Prolonged isolation can lead to a kind of existential vertigo, a disorienting sense of disconnection from the world. The introspection that solitude affords can devolve into self-absorption, and the clarity of thought can become clouded by the echo chamber of one’s own mind. It is crucial to recognize that while solitude is essential for personal growth and creative endeavor, it must be tempered by engagement with the world.
Enter the crowd, that teeming mass of humanity where individuality is both magnified and diminished. In a crowd, one is part of a larger entity, subsumed by the collective energy and shared purpose. The crowd can be a source of exhilaration and inspiration, a catalyst for social change and communal solidarity. The rallies and protests, the collective movements that have altered the course of nations, are testament to the formidable force of the crowd.
However, the crowd is also a site of conformity, where the individual can be lost amidst the throng. The very attributes that make the crowd potent—its unity and shared fervor—can also render it dangerous. The mob is fickle and prone to irrationality, capable of both great heroism and heinous acts.
As a lifelong, diehard, contarian nonconformist, this undeniable gravity towards following the crowd is nothing less than applying Nozema to a ass rash to me. Often times and to my own downfall, I will see almost anything the population embraces and find justification to counter it. If the crowd loves it, I don’t. The very essence of popularity burns me like sunshine on a vampire. I’m wrong about these things as much as I’m right.
On the other hand, I often work in crowds and with people from everywhere. I produce and create and manage large events. Then I go home and sit in my studio apartment in a state of earned exhaustion and blissful aloneness. Long past the feelings of FOMO (fear of missing out), my happy place is the low energy expenditure of relating to a houseplant because it doesn’t require me to engage and I have zero trust issues with it.
In comparing solitude and crowds, I will caution against romanticizing either. Solitude, while a wellspring of creativity and introspection, is also a place of vulnerability and isolation. The crowd, a source of collective strength and unity, can equally be a crucible of conformity and chaos. The challenge is to navigate the space between these extremes, to find a balance that allows for both personal growth and communal engagement.
In solitude, we encounter the depths of our own minds, facing our fears and desires without the buffer of social interaction. It is a place of profound honesty, where pretense falls away, and we are left with the bare essence of who we are. But this very nakedness can be daunting, and the insights gained in solitude must eventually be tested in the crucible of the crowd.
The crowd, for its part, offers a mirror in which we see ourselves reflected in others. It is in the crowd that we find our place in the social fabric, our actions and ideas validated or challenged by the collective. Yet, this very validation can become a trap, as the desire for acceptance leads to a loss of individuality.
For now, in Chicago, I’m content to navigate the world within the two extremes. I also know that eventually, I will find a bit more balance but my well earned trust issues prevent too much connection. Like a wound that eventually becomes a scar, those trust issues will fade into a reminder and perhaps I’ll go all out and get another plant.
