Why Don’t You Knit?

This essay was supposed to open with a beautiful quotation about the difference between loneliness and solitude—two opposing states of being. It was one of my favorites when I first discovered it as a teenager, and it stayed with me throughout the years, only for me to later realize that the person who said it was controversial and, quite frankly, a hypocrite. That realization led me to quote Michael Scott instead, whose character somehow still has more integrity than the person I was about to reference.

“I love inside jokes. I’d love to be a part of one someday.” — Michael Scott

This, I think, is a perfect example of loneliness.

But what about solitude?

I could search for another quote, but instead I’m thinking of a second character—very similar, yet completely opposite to Michael—who might represent solitude just as well: Mr. Bean.

The birthday dinner alone in a restaurant, the careful preparation of small details at home for nights as big as New Year’s Eve or Christmas, or even moments as simple as a picnic. Despite all the nuances, he always finds a way to enjoy the simple life. In solitude.

We, as humans, are social creatures. There’s nothing new under the sun—we need communication, laughter, hugs, the exchange of ideas, venting, celebrating, or crying together. Yet, oftentimes, the more I meet people, the lonelier I feel. At least, that has been true for me in the past few months.

I traveled and moved enough in my life—perhaps too much—to begin feeling as though I had no roots. And yet, I do have friends. Most of them are from my hometown; the rest are scattered around the world.

Until recently, I considered the people physically closest to me—those sharing the same or similar struggles of living in a big city—to be close friends. They turned out to be, well, acquaintances.
People who liked calling me a friend as long as I didn’t fully embody three of my main character traits: honesty, grit, and empathy and two of my main moods: joyfulness and kindness.

Turns out, these five are as inadequate to show in front of some people as their comments and questions—often disguised as naïve jokes or harmless criticism.

There was one specific week when I felt disconnected, rejected, and treated like a leftover. You know the feeling: you call someone on a Tuesday and give them time to decide whether they want to go out over the weekend, only to wait until Saturday for them to find an excuse to say they can’t—while you later see their Instagram story.

It almost feels pathetic to even write about this. We are adults. Aren’t we supposed to tell each other the truth? Aren’t we supposed to say, “I can’t continue this friendship,” or “I made plans with other people?”

I don’t deny that sometimes people give excuses to avoid hurting someone. I understand that impulse. But some people are simply too weak—or too concerned with preserving their own comfort—to be honest, believing that hiding the real reason will somehow protect the person on the other end of the phone.

And then there are those who are perfectly fine with making a fool out of that very same person—only to end up making fools of themselves.

The more repulsive version of not being picked when you’ve given nothing but effort and love in an adult relationship is to be picked on.

In the past few months, I felt like I’ve met the same version of a deeply miserable person in a few people with the same hobbies: quiet aggression, nitpicking and backhandedness.

One accused me of “showing jealousy” because I gave a genuine compliment to a person I truly love, another nitpicked through the things I truly care about and am passionate for; a third focused on finding the smallest possible faults in a generous gift I gave from the bottom of my heart—yet still found a way to make me feel miserable. I can forgive and let go of that.

What I cannot continue to tolerate, however, is someone trying to heal their own misery by intentionally attacking another person. Over and over again. You forgive, and forgive and ignore and then comes a day when you look at a person who’s constantly trying to put you down and think what would it feel like to suggest: “Maybe if you’re this good at details you should try knitting.”

But, that only happens in my mind, because dignity is a better choice than confronting a fool.

So, just like Mr. Bean on an ordinary day, I decided to let go and let myself be alone, without feeling guilty for choosing my own company over that of someone who is passive-aggressive or unwilling to engage in kind-hearted conversations.

I learned that I can be alone and still exist peacefully in solitude.

This is nothing new to me. I’ve been choosing peace over noise, opportunism and manipulation since childhood.

I’ve spent hours and hours in front of the building where I grew up, drawing on the stairs because I wanted to be near the neighborhood cats or under my favorite wild olive tree.

Twenty-five years later, I am not that kid anymore; but I am keeping parts of her inside me. No matter what the world does, no matter how much time has passed, I am not going to compromise my peace, my self-respect and my freedom to be who God has made me to be.

So, next time someone treats you as the thirteenth piglet or tries to bark at you because you’ve grown into a beautiful tree whose fruits intimidate them, remember: Mr. Bean went on a holiday alone and ended up with two new friends, equally and unequivocally brilliant in their uniqueness.

Do not be afraid to wait in solitude for the right ones. God always knows whom you need and when you need them. It took me a year to understand this.

P.S. Do not be shy to ask Jesus to sit with you. You’ll be surprised how quickly He answers your call when you search Him with all your heart. You will hear Him say: “You’ve got a friend in me.”

🎀My belated Christmas blessing and New Year’s wish for you:🎀
May He give you the right person and the right friends—the kind who make throwing pillows out of pure joy feel like the most reasonable thing to do on an otherwise very dull day.