With the passing of time, you come to realize that loneliness is integral to life. It is not simply an abysmal silence that renders the individual valueless, dare I say useless. It is the potential of human existence at rest, in anticipation of encounter and genuine relationship. It is in encounter that life takes place. Solitude provides the opportunity for reflection and preparation, to provide the conditions for genuine meeting.
However, loneliness is a state of being that is often repressed and concealed. "I must not appear alone." Hold onto your spouse/partner/fuck-toy/suck-toy a little tighter. Show him or her or him-her off proudly, lest you appear...lonely. But, we are not a species who lives in perpetual togetherness. We require distance. And, for the sake of sanity, we need distance.
Then why do appearances matter? Because, as modern sensibility dictates, only appearance really matters. The sanctity of martial bliss - the 'blessed' idea of eternal union - is now an illusion. People often plunge into marriage, because it is expected. And conversely, divorce is as much of an inevitability, because even the breakdown of union is expected, in spite of matrimonal rites that make promises...forever. It is the normal progression of affairs for a society full of romantic dogmatists. But the same applies to the virile bachelor(ette), who subscribes to a doctrine of promiscuity. For them, truth exists between one's legs. And, of course, there are those who choose a life of utter solitude, who reject all relationships - apart from those with God and with self. For them, truth lies within the individual soul - achievable only in isolation.
Solitude alone is not life. A prioritization of solitude over and above encounter is, in many ways, passive anticipation of death, anticipation of forever? The truly aloof individual does not accentuate his or her isolation. It is what it is. "Here I stand, I can do no other," the rebel says, willing to accept what may come from his stand. The one attempting to appear aloof, however, strangely longs for the gaze, for the attention that being part of the "crowd" could never bring. Isolation augments the value the gaze will provide, once he or she breaks from solitude. This, of course, harkens back to a time when aristocrats remained above and beyond the rabble, the masses. Of course, the aristocrat is nothing without the jealous and sublimely resentful gaze of the peasant. The idea that the peasant secretly wants to butcher him surely arouses the aristocrat - it confirms his high place of status. The gaze, especially one produced within the artifices of simulation and dissimulation, confirms self-grandeur. Mutual encounter only debunks self-delusion, and is, for the vain and aloof, to be avoided at any cost. Solitude, to put it clumsily, can be the artifice of aristocratic sensibility. In this context, loneliness is not accepted as part of life. It is grasped as an instrument for inflating self-worth, a means to elevate oneself as a valuable - desirable and superior - object. Solitude can be simulated for the purposes of manipulation.
Loneliness, in general, is feared. To be more precise, the perception of loneliness is feared. We are alone at times, but it is often difficult to confront alienation. The valorization of aloofness is indicative of aristocratic distance, a sentiment that claims that the lonely thinker is the ignored prophet, the voice salvation left without an audience. "No one understands," the lonely thinker concedes. It is an easy trap to fall into, especially when one uncompromisingly believes the paramount authenticity of one's ideas. An exclusive claim to truth is part of a project of self-aggrandizement.
Silence is not necessarily arrogant or ignorant. A silent acknowlegement of the human condition is also an acceptance that with communication comes mis-communication. Human action is invariably imperfect; much is lost in translation. Whether mis-communication leads to violent reprisal or further attempts at understanding is left to the participants in the encounter. Those who impose certain truth rationalize violent means in pursuit of absolute ends. For them, freedom is to be left alone...for eternity. There is, evidently, not purity to be found on a planet where man is imperfect and limited. The divine will works within the chosen few - the exclusivity of aristocratic distance is most pronounced in Calvin, wherein only a chosen few among the chosen few are to be saved.
So what's so bad about being alone? The moments when I grow weary of my solitude revive thoughts of what might have been. Romanticism is invariably revisionist. What might have been hurts me profoundly. While dining at a restaurant, I will often look across the table remembering a time when she was there, thinking that she should be there, and realizing that she is not. Those moments hurt. Those moments make me painfully aware of my solitude. But the pain leads to personal insight. I realize that solitude is not simply a matter of choice or purely a product of circumstance; in truth, intentionality is often inconsequential to it. Solitude is part of the human condition; and the task of life is to shake alienation, returning us back to relationship.
I don't know why she is central to my thoughts about the past. She infects my memories, suffused throughout the space between past and present, and will be scattered along the path between now and tomorrow. Usually, the yearning for better times quickly pass and I return to my table for one, returning to my meal. And from time to time the idea of her returns to comfort and torment.
It is the feeling of loneliness that compounds existental incompleteness. And it is this incompleteness, axiously awaiting an encounter that may never happen, that makes solitude unbearable. However, solitude is necessarily a part of a thoughtful life. It is in solitude that clarity emerges. In understanding that loneliness is part of life, a person confronts the conditions integral to a thoughtful engagement with the limitless strangeness of the human condition.