Let the Right One In (Tomas Alfredson, 2008)
"Thank you again for another evening steeped in merriment and friendship."
I used to think it was important to create a distinction between 'being alone' and 'being lonely'. I would demarcate these terms by stating that being alone required the absence of all people, but that being lonely could occur in a crowded room. I'm less pleased with this distinction now. After all, what is it to feel lonely other than to be alone? And is it not possible to be alone due to an absence not of other human beings, but of other human beings that you identify with? Of course it is.
Therefore, I am currently subscribing to the idea that there is no real clear cut distinction between these terms.
In addition, one of the key aspects related to both being lonely and alone is the absence of being listened to, or, more correctly, the absence of being correctly heard: of being listened to for who we are. This is, in my opinion, a particular source of pain when one is going through childhood. Children understand their place in the world by being acknowledged, and it is of paramount importance that this listening process occurs when they are being who they are, not when they are forced into a way of being that they have learned garners them attention. This is common knowledge, but I see it thrown into disrepute every day. Parents only acknowledge their offspring when the child is 'playing up', behaving 'badly': when the child behaves well, or 'normally', on the other hand, they are often ignored.
One of the effects of this process of being ignored, and the feeling of embarrassment that occurs when one is ignored, is what author John Bradshaw refers to as 'Toxic Shame'. A child undergoes Toxic Shame when their ego is laid bare, made vulnerable, and then wounded. This then manifests as a feeling of intense shame connected not to what we have done, but to who we have been perceived to be. Reversing Toxic Shame is complicated, because it is difficult to make reparations for what we understand to be a crime connected to who we innately are, as opposed to for an action. It is possible to resolve a misdeed, but how can an individual make amends for who they are? What is required in this instance is for someone to accept us: to stand (metaphorically) naked in front of another, displaying who we are, and to not be judged, but to merely be accepted. To do this is an act of great courage which few of us ever achieve.
Connected to this is a concept brought up by the author Haruki Murakami about the universal human experience of finding someone special. Murakami often felt bound up in forming a close bond to someone who was not to the taste of everyone: not someone to whom universal concepts of beauty were appropriate, but rather someone who had a unique, specific set of attraction symbols that were just for him. For Murakami, this is what makes a relationship special, instead of merely generic. If I am in love with the person who everyone is in love with, then what is special about my feelings? Not much. Instead, I should find someone who has a precise set of attraction symbols for me, and, ideally, my own attraction symbols should be accepted and wanted by the person in question. That is what makes for Murakami's concept of an ideal relationship. If we can find this person who is just for us, then we have an opportunity to stand naked in front of someone, and to be accepted for who we are.
Nobody wants to not be listened to. Everyone wants to be heard. No one wants to have to adopt a new way of being in order to be listened to. Everyone wants to be appreciated for who they are. Everyone wants to find someone special, someone just for them, and to be accepted. But it requires a brave soul to go against social conventions and to remain true to yourself in this quest.
Children often display this lack of interest in social convention, whereas adults do not. A child, when swimming for example, will un-self-consciously open their mouth and let the water play in and out, experimenting with the sensation of water lapping against them. Adults will often inhibit this kind of experimentation because of their heightened awareness of social conventions and of appropriate modes of behaviour in a given situation. Added to this is the fact that adults can function without entering the sphere of childhood, but children can not. Children are forced into entering and interacting with the sphere of adulthood, but adults and children think in different ways: they have different interests, their brains function in different ways. Yet all the same, children are expected to get on board with the world of adults by being subservient, by following orders: orders which often conflict with what appears to be important to them, and which force them to behave in ways which are not germane to them, which are false.
Childhood is its own complete sphere, its own world. It is a formatively crucial period where an individual is often forced into adopting particular ways of being in order to fit in, to not be laughed at, to be listened to. It is a time of confusion and fear for many, despite its many moments of joy. It is a quest in which we discover who we are. And it is something that we all share. Many of us have lost the ability to connect with children, because we are now adults. We think in a different way, we have different interests. When/If we have children, we give them imperative orders, we ask them to follow a set of instructions which don't make sense for them, and we ignore them when they are good and only acknowledge them when they display a behaviour pattern that we disapprove of.
The monster in the sphere of childhood is those who don't listen, because there is no pain like being alone.