My roommate hates interventions. I learned this last spring when I took on the role of mother and demanded she get some more sleep, for her own good. This had always been a lighthearted, laughable point of contention between us, but things got “serious” when said friend began falling asleep in the library so habitually that regular Alderman-goers began to stealthily snap pictures of her snoozing on the oh-so comfortable chairs of the Maps Room. Talk even started to circulate of starting an Instagram account entitled “Naps in Maps” to document such moments.
I understand my roommate’s continued aversion to sleep — she’d rather fill her days with productivity than sleep for hours on end. Makes sense, in theory, but I’m not keen on public naps myself.
I have a similarly nonsensical vice: I rarely indulge in alone time. Chalk it up to whatever you like, but I always blamed my lack of “me time” (insert carefree tildes/squiggles) on the simple fact that I’d rather be with other people than alone and bored.
I didn’t fully realize the value of alone time until this past summer. During my first year, I rarely felt burnt out, but I recall constantly pushing myself to go out, meet new people, get involved and always “be social,” no matter my exhaustion level.
None of that is particularly bad — in fact, I would argue the opposite — but I felt genuinely guilty every time I opted to take a breather and be alone rather than spend time with others. And it wasn’t just FOMO. Sure, I didn’t want to miss out, but I also didn’t want to be by myself.
Then, this past summer, my circle shrunk dramatically. Instead of having a seemingly never-ending hoard of people to constantly meet, constantly greet and constantly converse with, I was placed in a foreign country with limited transportation options and the close-knit pod of 20 other students in my cohort.
It was the smallness of that social circle that taught me the importance of spending time alone. Suddenly, when all 20 of those people I spent my summer with decided to go out together for the third straight time in a week, I happily opted to stay in. It wasn’t that we didn’t get along — we did. Rather, this social-working-travelling circle of randomly selected people had abruptly become my family away from my family and, as all of us need breaks from family, I needed some time apart.
That time to myself offered me the same relief as a nap might. It was a break from the speed of life — a refreshing, much-needed chance to catch one’s breath and recalibrate. While I still haven’t — and, honestly, probably never will — come to terms with the concept of public napping, I do now see the value in it and understand what compels people to occasionally doze off in Alderman.
Mary’s column runs biweekly Thursdays. She can be reached at m.long@cavalierdaily.com.
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