The alternative to we're all together is we're each of us alone

It's a terrible, hard thing, being together.

And it becomes increasingly evident, the older I get, that the easy way to avoid certain hurts would be to stop loving people. It's not an easy thing, watching the people that you love go through such tremendous hurt.

So the question arises, inevitably, my life is hard enough already. Why should I take on theirs as well? Better if I just go it alone.

People don't always speak it out loud. They are, on some level, aware of just how calloused and terrible that thought sounds when voiced. Nevertheless, they think it in the backs of their minds, and that's not in itself a fault. It's a human thought to wonder how many cracks you can handle until you break, and often, we do end up cracked by association.

So we start leaving people behind. Cutting them out. It's a tremendously fertile moment for cutting loved ones out, this era of "me" and so-called self-love with its high levels of toxicity. Except, where does that leave us? Increasingly isolated. More young people than ever before are solitary, and much of our online world cheers us on to focus on ourselves and not put up with anyone who's even marginally different from us.

Following this logic, that should mean we are hurting less. If we have fewer people to hurt us directly, and fewer people to hurt us indirectly through the various misfortunes that arise in their lives, then theoretically, that should make us happy.

How is it, then, more and more of us are on medication, lonely, and reliant on technology to provide some basic forms of human connection?

I realize it's a complex problem, and it's not all about this culture of cutting people out. Though there are several identifiable strands contributing to out isolation. I was just thinking, as the city prepares to celebrate Easter (big holiday in Romania) that while the folks who criticize the consumerism and heavy focus on food are right, essentially, they're missing the point. There is also a unifying layer to it, as with any tradition or ritual that the whole community takes part in. Right now, we are all preparing. Tomorrow, religious or not so much, we will be in church. There are remnants of value in this togetherness dictated by a shared, religious past. We'd be wise to hold on to it.

And yet, everywhere you look, you're being told you are unique, that you should "do you", that you should break from tradition, religion, family, and everything that's gone before. That is only a recipe for chaos and great suffering, it seems to me. Obviously, you should cull where you can truly toxic and harmful creeds, ideas and practices. But it seems to me everything you do should be weighed very carefully against the overarching, overpowering good that comes from togetherness.

It should not be discarded lightly.

But then, how do I look after myself while staying together?

It's been a question that I've come back to often over the past couple of years. There is in me a strong urge to cut and run. You might hurt me? Fuck you, bye. Very simple logic. You're different from me? Same rules. Except that didn't make me very happy, and in the end, I found I loved much too much being with people than I did the "freedom" of being on my own.

So I came back. Now, I'm focusing on learning how to keep a little space in the areas where we're different. I've had, over the past year, some conversations and interactions with people that I love that wouldn't have been possible before. I thought, for a long time, I couldn't be me if you insisted on being you, and I think a great many people are thinking along those lines right now.

I've never been able to get behind the trend of labeling people toxic. Of cutting people out. People are not there to be given up on.

And I'm watching that happen to someone close to me. Pain and grief are, of course, inevitable. But every day, I'm reminded of Nick Cave's conclusion of that - you can either let your hurt open you up to the world, or close yourself around it, like a small, hard rock. I'm watching someone voluntarily close themselves off. In parallel, someone else, going through something infinitely harder, trying desperately to open.

And I'm not sure how to watch that, so I write.

How do you look after yourself while staying together?