I Thought I Needed Alone Time. Then This Happened
Sometimes the best medicine is crowded, messy, and loud
I can’t think of anything more appealing than days spent in my home, alone, unscheduled, and following my nose from one activity to another. Expansive, open, free time. That’s my idea of paradise. I’m my most creative on those days. I feel alive and content.
That’s why it’s surprising that I felt deep happiness when I went to the rally last weekend. Everything was not what I love, from hustling myself to the bus stop to putting myself in the middle of a crowd of thousands.
It was not free and expansive. But it was what I needed.
When I got to the bus top, I was already regretting not bringing gloves. My hands were jammed into my shallow coat pockets, my right hand clutching the last of a roll of doggie bags, searching for warmth. The skin on my arms contracted against the cool wind, as if it could hide inside itself.
At the bus stop, two women arrived discussing their rally plans. One was wearing a short skirt with old fashioned knit stockings. I kept staring at her legs, wondering how she wasn’t cold.
The rally was poorly organized.
No one could hear the speakers. No one could even see the speakers.
I was surrounded by tall people. I tried repositioning myself, pushing my way past young families, old couples, and scared-looking dogs. I saw a man with a sign that had a guillotine on it, watched two women snap pictures of themselves with a "I've seen better cabinets at Ikea” sign, and followed a man whose American flag kept blowing in my face and blinding me.
But no matter where I went, I couldn’t find any place where I could see what was happening.
Eventually, I resigned myself to not seeing anything when suddenly, the crowd turned 180° and started walking away from where I assumed the stage was.
“Where’s everyone going?,” I asked.
“We’re going to walk down State Street,” someone answered.
And like that, I was carried down State Street, in the center of the crowd, with no effort on my part.
The bus was impossibly full. Shoulder-to-shoulder full. Bumping-into-strangers-in-an-embarrassing-way full.
I could see the front of the bus and a long line of people was trying to board. No one was squishing closer to make room for them; it seemed impossible to imagine getting closer. I couldn’t imagine how they would all fit, and silently wondered if the driver could declare the bus full and close the doors to the rest of the line.
As I watched the line inch forward, I noticed a man who moved stiffly. “Parkinson’s”, I thought.
His wife gently nudged him forward, steering him in the tight crowd. One man offered his seat to the old man. The old man turned to sit down but misjudged. Instead of landing in the seat, he ended up on the lap of the woman next to him.
And then, a miracle happened.
Everyone opened their hearts and helped the old man find a better position. That tiny corner of the bus was filled with kindness and beauty–the best of human nature. Smiles. Gentle small-talk. Light-hearted jokes.
The bus was medicine for our times.
In many ways, State Street is the hub of Madison.
At first glance, you might think the Capitol is the center. The Capitol is the People’s building. It stands on a hill so you can see it miles away, across Lake Monona even. On almost any day, you can walk inside and marvel at the murals in the dome, or sit on the cool marble floors, thinking of the quarries as far away as Algeria that provided that marble. It’s the seat of Wisconsin’s national power.
But State Street is where the heart of the people lives. This street connects the University of Wisconsin-Madison on one end, to the Capitol on the other. This bus-and-bike-only road is flanked with iconic Madison stores and restaurants, some of which have existed for decades. Most people in Madison have deeply personal memories of State Street.
I’ve been in protests where the movement of the crowd down State Street scared me. In the George Floyd protests, police had used tear gas and so everyone was on edge. After a loud noise a block away, the crowd started running–panicking–from some unknown and unseen attack. On that day, I pressed myself against a boarded-up storefront to keep from being trampled.
But this was different.
This crowd was like a warm embrace from a tender, loving mother. All soft skin, ample bosom, and heart-melting kindness.
As I walked down State Street, I passed strangers posing for pictures with their “ICE is for sodas” signs. An old man with green hair shouted, “This is what democracy looks like.” to the cry, “Tell me what democracy looks like.” A young woman in a rainbow-colored dress stood on a tall planter box so she could watch the crowd walk by.
Friends greeted friends. Old people carried babies. Dogs wore anti-DOGE signs.
For the first time in months, I started to relax.
Today, I’m sitting in a cafe to do my writing. The table wobbles and spills my coffee all over my bag. I’m under the speaker which is playing music that is too loud for me. “Mandy”. “Shake your Booty.” I think of the 8-track tape in my Dad’s blue Oldsmobile Delta 88 Royale and fight to keep my focus. Two women at the table next to me complain about work for over an hour.
Despite all these discomforts, it feels good to be here.
Sometimes even introverts need to be with people.
Obviously, times have been stressful since the beginning of the year. Like everyone, I muddle through.
What I didn’t realize was just how much I needed to be in the midst of strangers. To let the goodness of humanity buoy me up and carry the load for a little while.
This is a case when the best medicine is the stuff I’m not inclined to do.
But how was I to know that?
‘Listen to your heart’ and other malarkey
Knowing what is best for you is tricky business. In popular culture, people will tell you to listen to your heart for insight.
I cringe at this advice.
The problem is that our “listening” is often distorted. We don’t hear actual signals. And if we do catch a signal, we mistake it for something else. We hear through the filter of our habits, thoughts, preconceptions, and judgements.
Last weekend was a good example of this. If you had asked me what would reenergize me, I would have undoubtedly said that I needed to be alone and in nature. But there I was, in the middle of a crowd in downtown Madison getting the medicine I really needed.
I thought I needed alone-time. Instead, I needed together-time.
It’s no wonder it’s so hard to care for ourselves in a healthy way.
So my advice is two-fold.
1. Lean on others
In this time of stress, reach out to others for support. If you must, Zoom or call. But if you can, meet in person. Live. Shoulder-to-shoulder. Feel body heat. Be close enough to actually touch someone.
2. Get out of your head
Secondly, learn to truly “listen” to your heart. Turn off your brain. Sit in an open, unassuming way and see what comes up.
This piece of advice is hard to understand without practice. So to get started, I recommend the exercise below. It can help you turn off your brain and bypass your conceptual mind.
Pillow Talk
Grab a pillow and settle on a comfortable chair.
Think of a statement you’d like to contemplate. Your statement should be a simple sentence and it can capture what you think to be true. For example:
I need alone time to feel better.
I am overwhelmed by stress.
I am good at caring for others.
I need more exercise.
Your statement can be any topic you’re exploring.
Put the pillow on your lap. Imagine the circle in the image above on your pillow.
Place your hands on the middle-left side of the pillow (the “Yes” side). Think about your statement in its “Yes” form. For example, “Yes, I need alone time to feel better.” Don’t try to cognitively debate this statement. Just think it once and then sit quietly. You don’t need to search for answers or try to hear an insight. You’re simply sitting in the midst of that statement.
After a few minutes, move your hands to the top of the pillow (the “No” side). Think of your statement in its “No” form. For example, “No, I don’t need alone time to feel better.” Again, don’t debate. State your sentence and then sit openly.
After a few minutes, move your hands again, this time to the middle-right side of the pillow (the “Both” side). Think about your “Yes” statement and your “No” statement, and allow both to be true. “I need alone time and I don’t need alone time to feel better” Sit openly.
After a few more minutes, move your hands to the bottom of the pillow (the “Neither” side). Now think about your “Yes” and your “No” statement and allow neither to be true. “I need neither alone time nor not-alone time to feel better.” Sit for a few minutes.
Finally, move your hands to the center of the pillow (the “All” side). Now allow all the possibilities to exist—Yes, No, Both, Neither, and All. Sit in this totality.
A couple of tips:
Moving your hands in space is a beautiful part of this exercise. Your body is physically shifting which can support an internal shift as well.
It is tempting to think about these statements and look for something definitive to change or present itself. Maybe this will happen. Who knows? But instead of searching for an answer, approach this exercise with no expectations and lots of open curiosity. Your experience might be non-conceptual—perhaps a subtle shift in how you’re working with your statement. Maybe you’ll just feel a little space around the topic. Maybe something else. Be open to whatever happens.
Thank you, Kelly, for teaching me this exercise.
ANNOUCING: Moving Meditation
For the month of April, I’ll be hosting free 10-minute moving meditations. These are easy, quick sessions of mindful movement. Don’t worry if you haven’t done moving meditation—I’ll guide you through the process.
Here are the dates:
Wednesday, April 16 @ 10:00am CST
Friday, April 25 @ 12:00pm CST
Monday, April 28 @ 10:00am CST
To join the meditation, you’ll need to download the Substack App. When the meditation starts, you’ll receive a notification to join the LIVE event.
The format is simple. I’ll arrive 5 minutes before the start time so we can get settled in. At the top of the hour, I’ll begin guiding you through the meditation. You can be indoors or outside. You just need a little room to move. Sometimes we’ll walk, and sometimes move in one place.