A Walk in the Park

In T-minus 3 days, I will embark on my summer adventure to intern in Los Angeles. Living alone, 3,000 miles away from home, this will certainly be a change of pace from the past three months of the non-stop Harvard College lifestyle.

I grew up essentially an only child. While I have three half-siblings with whom I am now very close, they were already in college by the time I was old enough to remember much. Still, I found sibling-like companionship elsewhere, mostly through my cousin, who is five months older than I am. We attended the same schools and even lived in the same apartment building. So, despite not having siblings at the same stage of life as I was, I never felt lonely. And even in times when I was alone, I had no problems making up games for my dolls or drawing pictures in my solitude. But now, immersed in the constant motion of my college lifestyle and perpetual online connection, that ease with isolation feels increasingly distant.

These days, I find that solitude is a scarce commodity. I spent this year sleeping a mere five feet away from my best friend; we set up our beds to face each other diagonally so that every morning we greeted each other with groggy grunts, and every evening we whispered goodnight after hours of talking. Anytime she wasn’t there, at least one of my other roommates was surely in our common room, often bringing with them an array of characters to chat away the hours. For me, being immersed in campus life means a tight schedule filled with classes, Indy storyboards, and a never-ending social calendar. I have to actively seek alone time through walks to Boston, classes at Down Under School of Yoga, or solo movie nights tucked into bed. 

During the times I have found myself unintentionally alone in my past two years away, anxiety has crept in as my undistracted mind has been infiltrated by doomsday thoughts about the uncertainties of the future or ruminations on past mistakes that make me cringe. I have forgotten how to be alone—how to fill empty hours, or simply enjoy quiet moments. Having become so accustomed to constant social stimulation, I now find it impossible to disentangle solitude from boredom; without these perpetual interactions, I find myself slipping into hours of doomscrolling, leaving me foggy-minded and ultimately unsatisfied. 

In the weeks since being home from school, I have begun to rediscover the peace of being alone—something I will have to get used to for the rest of this summer. 

Having had only one sit-down test at the beginning of exams, I escaped from Cambridge significantly earlier than most of my college peers. A few of my high school friends were back in the first weeks, and my mom’s days were still filled with work. Having “burnt the candle on both ends” as my dad would say, up until the moment I left Quincy House’s Stone Hall, I welcomed the hours to myself—free of work and free of social obligations.

The first night I spent alone, I spent my time baking my mom’s chocolate cookie recipe and sitting down to watch “Cruel Intentions” uninterrupted. I also found time to crack open my “daily” journal that had been gathering dust on my shelf since February. And, best of all, I began a ritual of regular walks in my neighborhood; this is my favorite way to spend my time. 

Queuing up music, an audiobook, or the newest episode of “Call Her Daddy” in my tattered Bose headphones from sophomore year of high school, I can walk for miles that amount to hours of my day. Walking along the East River at night, I am mesmerized by the dark currents and freight ships. Walking up 59th Street or down Fifth Avenue, I am immersed in the lives of rushing tourists and Midtown finance bros out for lunch. Every day, I discover new routes and paths through the lower loop of Central Park. These walks are an exercise, literally and figuratively; not only am I consistently surpassing my 10,000 steps, but I am also forced to sit with my thoughts, or just allow myself to listen to my music and let go of my anxieties (and I can boast that I finished all three Drake albums in a single go).

Though I happily welcomed Senior Week’s return to Cambridge, and the momentary return to that same rush I had been escaping, I went home all the more ready to unwind and equipped to reenter my routine of long walks, cooking, and movies. 

I accepted my job, knowing that it would take me far away from the comforts of home, my parents, and my friends; I will have to be self-sufficient—cooking, working, and commuting (navigating the I-10 with very minimal driving experience will definitely be a learning experience). Being alone is a skill, one that I have fallen out of practice with since coming to college—even that transition was something I did with the comfort of eight peers from my high school. But having rediscovered the freedom of isolation, I look forward to making my summer a time of productivity, discovery, relaxation, and independence—and this time, instead of doing all this in an urban jungle, I can recharge for my junior year on the sandy shores of the Pacific.

Mia Wilcox ’28 (mwilcox@college.harvard.edu) will use her alone time to work on Indy articles for summer issues.