I live alone. And sometimes this means that people worry that I am lonely.
After my trip to Bulgaria I wasn't exactly excited to be back in Brighton. I had errands to run, laundry to do, the communal shower needed something strong to unclog the drain. I felt stuck in my studio flat, tired and less willing to explore and push myself as I had done whilst travelling.
But when I did go out, I ran into a woman I worked with on placement last year and we spoke about how things were going, my course, her thesis, and her daughter's mental health.
I then ran into the guy who co-ordinates the tutoring program I volunteered for last year and we chatted about his trip to Canada with his girlfriend and my trip to Bulgaria, what schools had lost funding and where I was working this semester.
I decided to go to an outdoor reflective service that One Church were putting on in the evening. On the bus I bumped into someone who is a part of the student housing co-operative working committee with me and we spoke about the progress the co-op has made over the year, about their dissertation and what it's like to have no schedule, about my roller coaster summer and my need for structure.
When I got to the service, I saw a woman who had volunteered with me on the church's farm project over the summer, we spoke about how the last three weeks of my summer job had gone and about how her daughter had promised to look after her dog but had flaked so she had had to bring him with her.
These run ins, these accidental meetings, these moments of connection; they weren't superficial and surface level. They were fruitful and honest. They are the very real result of the time and effort I took last year to reach out and build community, to meet people and to explore Brighton.
I may live on my own but I am not alone in this city. I need to remind myself of this sometimes.
I am not where I was a year ago, when social interactions were still so new and tender, when I did not know if I could share some of the heavier things, when I was scared to push people away.
I am proud of the friendships I have made, of the number of people I know and value in Brighton, of all the things that I have got involved with and the projects I've shaped. I am loved and appreciated.
Tired as I am from a rocky summer, I want to continue to reach out and find community, to meet new people, to expand my network further, to have more people to stop and talk to in the street.
I may like to curl up on my own in a room I know no one will barge into and cook in a kitchen where no one will be using the pans I want to use, but I don't want to do this year alone.
And I won't.
Lonely
