The Case for Intellectual Loneliness

I recently had lunch with a dear friend — one of those friends that you start with the obligatory “what’s new since I last saw you (four years ago)” and you quickly digress into the suffocating loneliness we both feel as women over 30. She aptly summed it up — “you are the total of those who surround you, and I am the sum of a 50 year old man and a 10 year old boy”.

We lamented over the lack of culture, magic, connection and overall, challenge in our lives. We also noted that we can’t be the only ones.

We’re both the type of women who are a little too intense for most. The ones that will likely take our bosses job’s — up before dawn and in bed too late — taking advantage of every waking moment of daylight (and moonlight) our lives can offer.

We both have “big city jobs” — the ones that require a lot of travel, meetings at all times of the day, and an immense amount of problem solving. Both of us also live in small towns and commute only when necessary — leaving behind the quiet hum of our communities for better coffee, $20 salads and a day spent without the freedom of stretchy pants.

However, it wasn’t always like this — there was a time that I lived in a city — one of those tough, gritty kinds of cities that requires a lot of energy to live in. A city where you never know what you’re going to run into, what you’re going to see, or what you’re going to later have to try to forget. This “toil” as I called it drained me — I craved a place where I wouldn’t be washing my car and have some neighbour walk by and murmur “you want to wash mine too?” — I wanted peace. I wanted to be disturbed only on my own terms.

So, during the pandemic I chose to move back to my hometown. It’s here where I wake up to sunrises and sip wine while the sunsets — I have quiet neighbours, a river running through my property and more space than I know what to do with. I can breathe.

However, like a lot of those who chose the great escape, I am now reconsidering my move. I love a lot of things about this life — but being here also makes me wilt. As someone who studies culture for a living, where I live is (bluntly) without culture. Lacking big ideas, challenging art, good food, interesting conversation. It feels like a deserted island of chain restaurants, big box stores and cookie cutter homes. Essayist Paul Graham says that you can tell a lot about a city by the conversations you hear.

The quality of eavesdropping here is abysmal. It seems that everyone just wants to talk about their Air Fryers.

I’ve spent a lot of time and energy willing this place into a different light — maybe if I looked at it a certain way I’d notice a glint of something interesting that I hadn’t noticed before. Maybe if I met the right crowd of people, I’d feel like I found my place.

And please don’t mistake my definition of “culture” as something highfalutin. I am not looking for the shoppy shop aesthetic, the $8 drip coffee, or the $20 four-oz glass of wine. I mean all of those are nice, but none of these make for culture. I want a library with interesting talks on beekeeping. A greasy spoon diner with ripped, red vinyl benches and a surly waitress. A hole in the wall bar filled with all walks of life serving cheap pints of Miller High Life.

Paul Graham’s essay, Cities and Ambitions explores the underlying tone that cities emanate. This is what attracts people to an area — New York is about making money, LA is about fame, Cambridge — intellect. My hometown unfortunately does not emanate power, or intellect. Not fame or success either. Its siren call can only be likened to something along the lines of “we don’t believe we deserve better”. This looks like an absurd amount of Tim Hortons’. The Keg for special occasions. Five burrito fast food chains within one kilometre.

However, what’s worse than 5 burrito chains is living in one of the neighbouring towns. The “we are better” towns. Where their identity is summed up by achieving more than their “downtrodden” neighbours. If you’re a Parks and Rec fan, the Eagletonians to the Pawneeians.

Unfortunately, this “we are better” rhetoric manifests as higher real estate prices, cafes serving pretentiously sour coffee, countless restaurants sporting the Millennial aesthetic, and a collection of people that all look like they’ve been styled by an influencer peddling Amazon outfits. Little do they know, they are even less interesting than those they snub their nose at.

So between the “we don’t deserve better” and the “we are better” towns — I find myself looking for a new place to live. And unfortunately it feels like there is no right answer.

It’s here in this conundrum that I find myself intellectually lonely. In a drought of stimulating conversation — lacking a room filled with people who are haunted by as much existential dread as myself. Don’t get me wrong — I have a great group of friends, a challenging job, a good family, a connection to my community and even a few of those hard to find friendships that fosters exceptional intimacy. But my cup does not runneth over. I want more.

In Vivek Murthy’s book on loneliness Together he presents three key facets of loneliness — intimate (being known), communal (being surrounded), relational (being connected). After reading this book I wrote to him suggesting he is missing one — intellectual loneliness — being understood, challenged. I haven’t heard back yet — but still feel it’s a worthwhile addition. As George Orwell points out in 1984, “Perhaps one did not want to be loved so much as to be understood”.

To solve this drought, I thought I could bury myself in podcasts, articles and books — and maybe, just maybe it would satiate the itch of intellectual loneliness. But you can only consume so much content before you write a grim poem — after just having finished Consider the Lobster by David Foster Wallace — titled “all my friends are dead”.

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So, why not move?

I don’t know if one can outrun intellectual loneliness. Of course I dream of more cerebral pastures — Berlin, Brooklyn, Mexico City — all places that probably have more intellect than my small-town-ass can fathom. But, to a certain extent, solving for intellectual loneliness feels like searching for a needle in ten thousand haystacks.

I think I also believe that maybe, just maybe, if I turn over enough stones I might find the right crowd here where I am. I am a restless, flighty person who rarely puts down roots, and has yet to find contentment in my life. What’s to say it would be different anywhere else? When does one know when they’re asking too much of this life? As a pessimistic, grass-is-always-greener kind of girl, how do I know that moving won’t deepen the sense of intellectual loneliness. Reaffirming that it is, in fact, impossible to satisfy. At least right now, there is some hope in those greener pastures.

“It’s the everlasting switching that’s the dangerous thing, not what they choose — while others actually build a life in which things gain meaning and significance, this is not true for the restless.” writes Sheila Heti in How should a person be. She continues with “The antidote — to build on things they have begun and not abandon their plans as soon as life gets difficult”.

I will leave you with a quote that has tumbled around in my brain for weeks now — from the essay Repair and Remain by Kurt Armstrong — “work with what you’ve got. Sit still for a moment, take stock, make some changes. Big changes, if necessary.”