The Loneliness That Comes With Being a Writer

.. and the freeing aspect that comes with it.

It all started during COVID, as many stories about finding yourself do here on substack. The world stopped, and so did I—or at least the version of me that was constantly buzzing between being a corporate office admin by day and a musician by night. Suddenly, I had time to myself… and I was terrified. 

Before the pandemic, my life was a carousel of social engagements: gigs, parties, hangouts and endless commitments. I was a public figure. My calendar was a driven colour-coded calendar (figuratively because I was never that organized). It was exhilarating as I was in my 20’s wanting to experience all sorts of things, but often draining. I won't even get to the part about my toxic behaviours and vices for the sake of keeping this as short as I can with so much to tell and so much context to open with. 

My creativity tank? Running on fumes. Social battery? Constantly flashing red. Through this lifestyle, I’d perfected the art of masking—becoming whoever I needed to be in the moment, whether it was for career purposes or just to fit in. The anxiety was always simmering just below the surface, especially at social gatherings where I was considered the “fun” high-energy, entertaining performer. I wore the mask well, but it suffocated me.

Then came the pandemic.

I. Return to Art Form

Suddenly, I didn’t have to wear the mask anymore. In fact, I didn’t have to see anyone besides my wife, who is honestly the only person I can say I genuinely enjoy spending time with all the time even doing literally nothing. Everyone else as much as I love their company from time to time, had a timer.

What should’ve been a nightmare of isolation of cancelled gigs and career opportunities became a sanctuary. With work on pause and a nice little stress leave in hand, I found myself exploring things that had always been pushed to the back burner. I picked up reading which I haven't done since I was in school, got into board games, Vinyl collecting, and most importantly, I started writing for myself. At first, it was music reviews and blog posts about retro video games on contributor sites, then online publications— all this stuff that brought me joy. And it hit me: writing wasn’t just something I could do, it was something I was MEANT to do.

II. Content or Con-tent?

As I leaned more into writing and digital creating with things I enjoyed from music, gaming, anime and other hobbies, and through this I found a whole community online that spoke my language. Creators, writers, and creative shut-ins like me lived for creative expression and connection through words. I wasn’t an influencer anymore, always worried about keeping up public appearances. I wasn’t that guy on stage, the performer everyone expected to entertain. I was just being me and slowly learning that I can beloved for it as well! 

I eventually quit the cushy government job I’d held for over a decade. That decision felt like cutting the last tether to my old life. I proceeded to become a full-time freelance writer and content creator taking on various clients? It was hard work, but I’ve never felt more at home in my own skin.

III. The Chronically Online

Today, the people who get me the most aren’t the ones I used to go to parties and network at random local events with. They’re people I’ve met online—some across the globe. We bond over shared interests from our fandoms, taste in music, all the way to introversion, autism, and the beauty of putting pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard). I even got to meet a few of them in person travelling post-COVID experiencing things that we bonded on together online which was amazing! 

But then, happiness comes with a price don’t it? 

IV. The Ugly Side

The friends I had before COVID-19? Most of them were chomping at the bit to get back to “normal.” during that year and a half. And when it was over it was all rejoice, let’s do everything like we used to, except, I wasn’t the same person they recognized anymore that was as enthusiastic to doing just that. What we used to bond over felt irrelevant and unfulfilling to me, like we’d outgrown our shared interests. 

Feeling disconnected from the people I used to feel deeply connected with is one of the saddest shit ever.

And that hurt. It’s heartbreaking when those you once considered the ones who get you no longer feel like “your people” anymore and are only staying around for a chance they can help encourage you to turn back time and be the old you for them.

At some point, I realized I was forcing myself into situations that drained me just to stay connected with those. I’d show up to events and try to find things we can relate to, but it always felt... off. And the loneliness was worse than when I was stuck in a Pandemic, even though I was surrounded by laughs of many that I used to share those same laughs with!

V. Finding My People.. Who Dare to Be Living Far Away From Me

Being a writer has changed me. Not in that pretentious, "I’m better than you because I write now" way although it can probably be seen that way even as I avoid trying to make this sound snobby.

I ask more questions. I observe things more closely as if I’m constantly gathering material for some imaginary article. But with ADHD in the mix, my interest in things can be a bit... fickle as well. If I’m not 100% intrigued and tapping into my hyperfocus, I’m checked out.

I recognized more and more ignorance in people that I was able to be chill about and reluctantly agree with before. Noticing that many are locked in their own echo chambers not willing to be convinced otherwise or at least hear out different perspectives (remember masks vs no masks?). Folks my age who are just stuck in nostalgia and talking about the wishing to relive the past rather than finding beauty in what’s available today. I saw gatekeepers of fandoms, people who shunned anything outside their bubble. I also noticed how fast paced plenty of people my age lived their lives, while being around fellow writers noticing the need to slow down and process things as if it was our job to journal them and share our opinions.

As I writer, we’ve observed and stepped into many clients’ shoes from different aspects of life and try to be their voice, it opens up perspectives. And with that, I started to feel like a walking “Hot take” with plenty of my peers IRL. I‘m constantly more entertained in my mind as I’d tune out of predictable conversations that aren’t ready for my two cents. It was 9x harder nowadays to feign interest in things that have no interest in, and also 9x harder to feign un-interested with things I can talk about for hours but choosing to STFU just to not seem weird around those who sees them from a surface level.

It made me salty in a way. For a while I couldn’t figure out why people around me weren’t more curious about art, travelling, cultures, the world! But then I’d log on and talk to “my” people online who found me through my curated content. And I always felt heard. My energy was redirected to places where it needed to be for me to strive! 

VI. Eh, I’ll Write About it

Finally accepting that I’m a deep introvert, and understanding what it means to be neurodivergent made all these thoughts much clearer for me. I love deep, meaningful conversations with the few people who get me, even if they live halfway across the world.

For the record, as I accepted this is the way I am I found people who are likeminded IRL as well! And I love being around them as most they are also creatives with a full understanding of an empty social cup, and the slower process of experiencing life.

It’s strange to say, but the slight loneliness I feel now is different. It’s almost a chosen loneliness than a sad one, a certain solitude that allows me best experience things and reflect on them on my own if I choose to. A refocus that lets me focus on the things that matter to me. And it’s all thanks to Muda. Fuckin.. WRITING. And honestly? I think I’m okay with that. 

So, am I wrong for this? Maybe. But I’ll take solitude over a forced, shallow connection that costs $80 a night out in town to catch up (in today’s economy) any day.