The space I’m embracing lately is that of my solitude. It’s funny the different reactions people have when you tell them that you’re spending time alone. It can sound eerily familiar to people’s reaction to illness and disease – they can usually hear what you’re trying to tell them, but they have a fear that it’s catchy and would really rather not come in contact with it if at all possible.

I’ve mentioned to a few people that I’ve been spending a lot of time on my own lately, and their responses have been very telling. One said that they couldn’t spend fifteen minutes alone without becoming bored, and another told me that they were worried about me. Oh, thanks!

What is this solitude I’m referring to? Actually, I’ve always been a solitary person. Growing up, my two older siblings left home at a young age and, with parents older than myself by nearly two generations, I kept pretty much to myself. I didn’t find it easy to connect with the world in which I found myself. I was very quiet and ill at ease with others most of the time, and people found it easy to leave me alone. So I learned to find solace within myself.

I also chose to leave home at an early age, but with almost no experience of the world at large, every step was a struggle and an opportunity to test my internal fortitude. Often without family or friends to offer guidance or support, the road to independence comes at a high price, and once you’ve paid your dues, freedom has a value so elevated that it isn’t easily traded for anything less than its weight in gold.

When I was first on my own, I was very daunted by people’s indifference to my plight. Sure, I wasn’t the only lost soul without a family around them, but I noticed that families tended to stick together rather than open their doors to others. This was a hard lesson for me to learn, especially from a society that preaches family values at all cost, only if you didn’t have one there for you, well, too bad for you. Suddenly I was an outsider and I learned what that felt like. It felt like people needing a reason to treat you with kindness and respect, and this changed my perception of the world completely.

Once, not two or three years ago, I was at a family gathering where a cousin was speaking to one of her children. I heard her say that I was “just like family”. I realized that even within family there’s “family”, and there’s “just like family”, and it made me dislike the term family even more.

I see human beings as my family, as I see myself as part of the family of mankind. I have never been able to understand how someone can turn to a person and say “you’re family” and then turn their back on someone else and say “you’re not”. This for me displays a lack of empathy and compassion beyond comprehension – what were those words we were taught:  “there but for the grace of God go I”?

It took me several years before I was able to set up a home of my own, in what can best be described as a Montreal third floor walk-up back into time. It was dilapidated and without much protection from the elements, but it was mine, and I welcomed all walks of life for whom the word family had a different meaning. My family became those of different color, nationality, age, background, religion, profession, sexual orientation – you name it. I refused no one entry into my home, because I knew too well what it was like not to have one.

I lived in this home for seven years and I can tell you that each one was an adventure. Some nights I thought I would freeze to death. Others I thought I would starve, until a friend would appear with a package of pasta and a smile. I never froze. I never starved. And so began my tradition of giving parties, just because I was alive and felt that that was enough to celebrate. These were wonderful events where all walks of life converged and rejoiced at the chance to celebrate life. And let me tell you, with forty dollars and forty friends, you can celebrate life.

And for the past ten years, I’ve found a more serene home and have taken refuge away from the maelstrom that was my life. I still keep in touch with a lot of the friends that saw me through that period, but many have moved on and many have moved away. To be quite honest though, while my door remains open, many friends have gone on to start their own families, careers and adventures – and I miss them, I’m glad to be able to say. For once someone has been a part of my family, they always will be. And for me, I’ve learned at long last, to finally and truly love my space and myself within it. It’s a type of solitude that once embraced is both a relief and a release.