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5 Simple Steps to Being Less Needy

Strangers ask me for advice on the internet. One of the most common themes in these questions is self-improvement. Sometimes it’s a word of encouragement for being a writer (poverty), other times it’s an opinion on style (pay attention) or people (pay attention). A big theme is being okay with yourself. “Uhauling,” “the urge to merge,” codependency, the bountiful examples of dysfunctional lesbian couples who leapt into a serious relationship without establishing trust and compatibility: neediness is at the root of all.

Last weekend, my girlfriend and I road tripped to Vegas for her Father’s 60th birthday. We were inseparable: one day dripped into another in a love drunk haze. I detest hypocrisy as much as capris, so instead of telling you what to do, I decided to lead by example. How can I reasonably rail against codependency when I am nauseating? I hatched a plan: Five girlfriend-free days devoted to quality alone time. Let the self-actualization begin with five simple steps.

Noise: Is there anything more distracting and less rewarding than the deafening clang and clatter of modern life? We fill our ears with other people without considering if we really care to listen.

Turn off the television. Log out of Spotify. Put your phone in another room. Do away with notification dings and empty blather, with talk show hosts and celebrity updates. You like noise because it drowns out your thoughts. You like listening to other people because they tell you what to feel and think. Noise is not stimulation. Noise is a cop out. Noise is for people who can’t stand their own thoughts because they can’t stand themselves.

Silence is a catalyst for freedom and focus. Silence pulls you into the present, heightening awareness. Silence allows you to think things through to resolution. To be alone in silence is to be free of all obligation and expectation. Silence is the escape and solution.

 

DAY 1

It’s a warm end of Summer night in Hollywood, California, so I sit outside with a glass of green tea and crack open The Beautiful and the Damned. Running my thumb over the hardback’s gilded edges, I take a deep, polluted breath. Silen- “¡Cállate! Tu eres un CABRON!”

Slamming the front door and bellowing in Spanglish, my neighbor revs his sputtering truck engine and connects it with an enormous hose. I check the time. It’s 11:51 p.m, and my neighbor has decided to pressure wash the house. And driveway. And car. The combination of engine, hose, and radio drown out everything but my neighbor’s occasional bellow into the house. I try to use this as white noise and reread the same paragraph four times before glancing up. This is a mistake. I make eye contact with the man pressure washing an ancient minivan. He does not look away until I go inside.

Double locking the door, I profoundly appreciate the sound of silence.

That’s millennial for “get a hobby.” My hobbies include books and television. Yours probably do, too, but not all books and television are created equal. Instead of re-watching The Office or re-reading Harry Potter, work your way down Bill Hader‘s List of 200 Movies Every Comedy Writer Should See or NPR’s 100 Best Novels of the 20th Century. Either will entertain and challenge you. A challenge is an antidote to boredom and boredom is a symptom of loneliness. Or is loneliness a symptom of boredom? Chicken or the egg with those two. Plus, the more important films and novels you read, the more witty references you can drop into casual conversation. Learning is wonderful but knowledge is power and power makes excellent company.

DAY 2

Themes make learning festive, so I settle on “chatty Russians” and take a stab at Fyodor Dostoyevsky‘s The Idiot. Grad school friends assure me this is actually hilarious. I always assumed they were lying. A sample passage:

There is, indeed, nothing more vexing than to be, for example, rich, of good family, of decent appearance, fairly well educated, not stupid, rather good-hearted even, and at the same time to possess no talent, no special quality, no eccentricity even, not a single idea of one’s own, to be precisely “like everyone else.”

PREACH Fyodor. One hundred pages in (I had no friends growing up so now I’m a speed reader. HA!) I get a bit peckish and take my new homie Fyodor to a pub on Melrose Avenue for a snack and pint. At first, I feel a bit like a prick reading Russian literature over PBR and a cheeseburger, but then a wry observation makes me chuckle and I am lost, deep in Russia, amongst learned men who never take selfies.

I make a point of working The Idiot into every conversation for the next week or so-usually after the person I’m talking to casually mentions their last trip to the gym.

 

Everyone on Instagram is lying to you. They do not feel #blessed or drink that much #freshpressedjuice. No one drinks that much juice. Nobody. You, like your friends, your enemies, and millions of total strangers, are likely a big lying liar who carefully tailors her online presence for maximum FOMO-inducing impact. It’s basically open war, survival of the most photogenic. Have you ever noticed how “photogenic” looks like “eugenics?” I did, just now.

Unlike winners of a real war, the FOMO victor gets nothing but lost hours and a predilection for body dysmorphic disorder.

Take a two week social media detox. You’ll be amazed how much mental space and time it frees up. You’ll also be amazed by how few friends notice or care. They are preoccupied with life’s rich tapestry aka themselves.

DAY 3

I have a new follower. My fingers twitch involuntarily, longing to open Instagram and tally the latest count. Instead, I go to Settings-Notifications and turn off notifications for everything except texts. Before I can put my phone on silent, it begins to ring. It’s my most successful friend; a queer Hollywood power player who cuts deals for Emmy-winning writers. She’s bound to know a thing or two about independence. I pick up and pose the question of FOMO.

“I FOMO relationships. Like you see these couples on Instagram and they seem so fucking perfect,” she says. “Not yours because you don’t post that many pictures and I know you two argue sometimes.” I feel a twinge of irritation. “Then again, I’m a successful Hollywood agent so my life is pretty glamorous. I’m probably not the best person to ask about FOMO. But I’ve never posted an intimate couples pic on Instagram, so that gives me FOMO.”

I put my phone on silent.

 

Notice I said “what” and not “who.” Love for the abstract and inanimate can never be reciprocated and, therefore, never rejected. We all know cats and dogs provide unconditional love, but what of the delights of sight, sense, taste, touch? Or the wonders of gazing into history and discovering someone you relate to? Learn to make your favorite dish and identify the key ingredient. Repeat a simple sun salutation until your body slides from cobra to downward dog like butter. Take 15 minutes a day to read your favorite websites. Paint every piece of furniture in one room a different color. Collage the refrigerator. Make a three-course themed meal with accompanying music and cocktails for yourself. Think back to all the things you have that you once really, really wanted. Pull them out and show some love, even if that means lining them in a row at your one person dinner party. Get into The Sims, Syberia, Grand Theft Auto, or any other totally engrossing game for one.

Don’t tell anyone (social media detox), don’t wonder if doing all this for yourself is a “waste.” You are not a waste of your time.

Day 4

I hear the lock click shut and shoot out of bed. My roommate is gone. The apartment is mine. Being alone has always filled me with a manic giddiness tinged with relief. It’s my day off and I intentionally made no plans. What wonders await?

I decide to do something I’ve always wanted to do: marathon The Godfather one through three. I love my company. This is where you give yourself a reason to respect yourself. This is where you do something you’re proud of. This is where you take those feelings of insecurity and alienation and forge them into focus. You’ve contemplated in silence, expanded your cultural horizons, stopped comparing yourself to other people, and found delight in your own company. Now you make something of yourself. All the entertainment and culture in the world won’t make you happy if you aren’t working towards a goal. What I’m saying is: try harder.

Day 5

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As a settle into my fifth and final day of self-induced exile, I remember something my father told me in middle school. “You don’t have any friends? Work. No one wants to date you? Work. You don’t like your classes? Work. You’re bored? Work. Now is the time to work, Chloe. Because you have literally nothing better to do.” He delivered this grim life lesson with barely concealed glee. The fucker was right.

I started writing when I was 21. I wasn’t consumed with creative energy or seeking self-expression. I was just really lonely. In hindsight, loneliness is the best thing that ever happened to me.

Follow Chloë on Tumblr, Twitter, and Instagram.

*This article was first published on AE in September, 2015 under a different title.

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