Appreciating the silence

I woke up for school most mornings of my childhood not from the sound of an alarm clock or the birds chirping but from the blaring noise of a taxi’s horn stuck behind a garbage truck.

As I would get ready, my mom had to practically shove my tired self onto the school bus, where I would sit with my friends and make the trip across town. After a busy day with classes, friends and lunch breaks in Central Park, I would opt to take either the public bus or subway home, as the school bus was not there to get me on the way back. 

If it wasn’t already clear, I grew up in New York City. The fast-paced rhythm of the sleepless city never failed to test my energy and ability to cross the street without getting hit by a taxi or bicycle. The city’s constant foot traffic seldom allowed for a quiet moment. 

The school that I attended from pre-K to ninth grade was seven stories high. With 125 students in each grade crammed in the inevitably small classrooms, I was always with people — a lot of them. From my commute to school on the school bus, to my eight classes a day in a small group with my closest friends, to recess and other social times when we went to the park and hang out, to my trip home with four of my neighborhood friends, and beyond, every aspect of my early New York City life was sure to be spent with others. 

When I moved to Florida in 10th grade, I was thrown for a loop. I traded my city life for a quieter suburban town, powered by cars instead of public transportation and filled with standalone homes and townhouses instead of skyscrapers and apartment buildings. 

It took me a while to acclimate to my new life: Not as much with the environment, but without knowing a single person, it was difficult to feel connected with those around me. For this reason, once I met friends that I felt comfortable around, I spent lots of time with them and, similar to my time in New York, reverted back to my pretty constant social habits.

This socializing went into overdrive when I got to college. As freshman year began, each day seemed to bring more excitement and, in turn, more people to meet and converse with: from long dining hall tables, to shared housing, to class projects and group outings. 

It felt like every corner I turned, there were new people to meet — but I loved it. After entering USC nervous about meeting people across the country, being surrounded by others felt like proof that I belonged, or that I was fulfilled. 

However, I started to realize that this social time was not always a choice: I found it nearly impossible to be alone. I struggled to find a space even to make even a simple phone call to someone back home. Walking through campus, every outdoor table, “private” library room — though the walls are paper thin anyway — and each level of the steps outside of Tutor Campus Center, were all filled with people. Beyond that, my communal living space with a roommate, shared bathroom and 14-room hallway made privacy seem impossible. 

This realization made me feel overwhelmed and uncomfortable — though I would not call it that at the time — knowing that I had nearly no opportunities to be fully alone. Realizing that my once pride and joy of always being with big groups of people was starting to overwhelm me, I noticed how this might have been me avoiding or suppressing certain other feelings. 

By sophomore year, I realized that I needed to address my lack of independence head-on. At first, this was through acts as small as walking to classes alone or doing work at a cafe by myself. These simple acts may seem natural for some, but to me, it was the first step in the right direction. 

It felt a little forced in the beginning: Instead of carving out time to socialize, I found myself carving out time to be with my own company and grow comfortable with doing so. The largest part of this meant reminding myself that being alone is a choice, unlike when I moved to a new school in 10th grade. 

The silence felt unusual, but I tried to lean into it. Since I sought validation from big groups and had a packed schedule, I needed to remind myself that I was not lonely or isolated, but instead just spending some much-needed time on my own. 

After practicing these habits intentionally for a few weeks, alone time became natural. I no longer felt uneasy or unnatural about spending time without people. With this, I began to prefer doing certain things by myself: working out, walking to class, listening to music and going to Target to grab a matcha after a long lecture or class. 

For some people, these activities may seem intuitive to do by oneself, but for someone who has had trouble being alone, like myself, this was a true sign of growth. 

According to The Jed Foundation, a nonprofit focused on youth mental health, “If we spend most of our time with other people, we always have to be ‘on.’ All that social time can be draining. Time for yourself is a great way to recharge your social battery and slow down for a bit.”

Such time for oneself allowed me to feel more confident and calm. Consistently being with friends requires coordination, and my day-to-day life involves extensive planning. I felt more free and less stressed. 

One weekend night, I got back to my off-campus apartment late and decided I wanted frozen yogurt. My natural reaction would have been to ask multiple friends until I found one who was available. However, I decided to just go by myself. It ended up being a calm and reflective outing, and it showed me once again that I do not always need other people to do the things that I love. 

This can be challenging when social media often acts as a highlight reel where people post their most exciting moments — often spent with friends; I notice they do not often highlight solo outings. This can be deceiving and a barrier for those like myself trying to improve on spending time alone. However, I have worked to suppress these unwanted feelings and shift toward continued growth and empowerment. 

Even though I moved to Los Angeles more than a year ago, it is not until now that I have strengthened my ability to think alone. That does not mean that I wanted to detach from the people important to me in my life; I am so grateful to have made connections at USC that have allowed me to be with friends and peers so often. 

Understanding that it is a privilege to have others who want to spend time with you and vice versa is meaningful. But there’s a difference between having a support system and being available 24/7; there must be a balance and equilibrium between being present for your friends to socialize and finding time for yourself to recharge in a busy college environment. 

Being in such a communal environment in college can blur distinctive personal identity, which is why this was no easy feat. 

While I still live in a city similarly vibrant and bustling to New York, my mindset has changed from constantly embracing the busyness to taking time to let go. While I still enjoy braving the Cafe Dulce line on a busy Sunday morning or taking a CorePower class after a lecture with the friends I have made, I have also found solace in doing these same activities on my own time. 

College has so far been a year and three months of change and growth in many areas, yet this is one I have newly checked into. As I walk home from class, I am grateful for what I have, what I’ve worked on and how I will continue to grow.