Party of ONE: the Loners' Manifesto.

On Friends

Of course loners have friends. Loners, with our extra capacity for concentration, focus, our fewer distractions, make excellent friends. To a few. One, maybe, but a real one. Time shared, even with true friends, often requires loners to put in extra time alone, overtime, to recharge. It is a master of energy: as a rule, loners have so much for the social machinery, the talk, and sympathy. But our fuel runs out. This is what a nonloners don't understand about us, what they cannot see.

Friends do not come easily to us. Being friends with a loner requires patience and the wisdom that "distance" does not mean dislike. Friends are all the more essential to loners, because in many cases, they are our sole conduits to the outside world. When we find good ones, we pour ourselves into them.

On Sex

The public would conclude that sexually satisfied loners are an oxymoron, or we're compulsive masturbators. It's so obvious. What else could we possibly be doing? This, of course, is because it is a solitary practice. Things done alone are mysterious, dangerous, wrong, shameful, incomplete. In the eyes of the world, they do not count. On the sexual-options coolness scale, it ranks pretty much at the bottom, barely above bestiality. (Woody Allen, to his credit, has called it sex with someone you love.)

On Love and Relationships

Well, since they think we're eunuchs or compulsive masturbators, either way, we're fucked.

Meeting anyone at all is not a loners long suit. Meeting an assembly line of maybes has as much appeal as severe sunburn. Opening lines, small talk, seem repulsive and we haven't even mentioned pursuit. We fear, loathe and are bored with small talk. Spending time even with those we know, even with old friends, can grate. For loners, spending time with strangers, again and again, a stream of strangers, not merely to get it over with but to discern whether someday you will put your tounge inside this person's mouth, is the definition of surreal.

It has been said before, let's say it again: loner is not a synonym for misanthrope. Nor it is one for hermit, celibate, or outcast. It's just that we are very selective. VERRRRRRY SELECTIVE.

Secretly, we are romantics, romantics of the highest order. We want a miracle. Out of millions, we have to find the one who will understand. We would prefer to be alone with our own thoughts than with a less than perfect fit. We are almost constitutionally incapable of casual relationships.

Loners, if you catch them, are well worth the trouble. Not dulled by excess human contact, not blase' or focused on your crotch while jabbering about themselves, loners are curious, vigilant, full of surprises. They do not cling. Separate wherever they go, awake or asleep, they shimmer with the iridescence of hidden things seldom seen. You don't need to be told this. You know.

Enlightenment

Yesterday, you had me the focal point of your search for security. In your private thoughts, you are still trying to order your world so that it is predictable and feels safe. Not only is this an impossible goal, but it is also counterproductive to spiritual growth. When your private world feels unsteady and you grip my hand for support, you are living in conscious dependence on me.

Instead of yearning for a problem-free life, rejoice that trouble can highlight your awareness of my presence. In the darkness of adversity, you are able to see more clearly the radiance of my face. Accept the value of problems in this life, considering them pure joy. Remember that you have an eternity of trouble-free living awaiting you in the end.

Today, I let you go and found an enlightenment. I stopped to look at the fiery sky with admiration, then I started crying. But unlike any other tears, I cried because I know the sun is rising and I finally see the light at the end of that tunnel.

Today, something big and great is coming for me, and I cannot wait.

Master of My Domain

The toughest thing about starting something new is saying goodbye to something old. A real master knows the only way to walk off that plank is to leave nothing behind unfinished, unread, or with anyone idly standing by. The master knows because she's done it so many times before. She learns to love what everyone else avoids: the crevasse of the unknown and the fear of never finding anything better than what's been left behind. 

The master spent her last days reflecting, preparing, recharging, and restarting. She did it all alone. "Absolve you to yourself, and you shall have the suffrage of the world." - some dead guy said. Imagine what he would think of all this clutter. In our world, the pinnacle of independent thought is posted on pages with fancy banners and flashing advertisements alongside. He'd probably laugh at a world where dialogue has been reduced from argument and compromise to attack and defend.

Each day, I'm told that the more connected we all are, the better off we will be. Maybe they're right. But the more lines we string between each other, the more we are going to lose one another when bad connections occur. I like the butterflies in my stomach when someone I don't know looks at me in the eyes, smiles and says "Hello". The toughest thing about starting something new is not getting tangled and lost in those lines. I'm making a few clean cuts and leaving a few things behind. But I won't fret. After all, I am a master.