Bernard O'Shea: I like to hide from people, is that so wrong?

Somewhere along the way, solitude went from a luxury to a habit

'My wife consistently tells me I could go months, if not years, without human companionship. This isn’t true, but I could definitely go a few weeks.'

The other day, I asked myself how long I could go without human company.

Over the years, I’ve had so many conversations with friends about this. It’s strange to think it’s even a question, because you are actually in company when you ask it.

But as we have become more digitally connected, it seems, as people and as a society, to physically lock ourselves away and almost cocoon ourselves from others.

My wife consistently tells me (I don’t know whether she is impressed by this or bemused) I could go months, if not years, without human companionship. This isn’t true, but I could definitely go a few weeks.

She, on the other hand, is open and honest in her need for human company and only requires a few hours a week in solitary confinement.

I think a lot of my ability to shun humans comes from the nature of my job. I’ll walk for hours thinking of ideas either for Instagram or stand-up, and I’ll make notes on my phone.

If I don’t do this, I literally won’t have anything to bring to the table when it comes to showtime.

However, I’ve been told, and I have eventually recognised, that I love the sound of my own voice, and I would die if I didn’t have conversations with people. Anyone will do: Babies, dogs, the wind — I have to talk.

It was one of these conversations I had recently, where a poor, unfortunate woman who was listening to me babble on about the nature of people’s holidays (it’s far too long a story as to why we stumbled onto this topic) said “people don’t want to see anyone anymore when they travel”. It struck me I might be going that way too.

When I daydream about travel and reaching my destination, I don’t think of the people I meet. I don’t even think about their language, how I’ll check into the airport, or the hotel. I think about (if I’m travelling on my own) what buildings I’ll see, where I’ll eat, and possibly what I’ll purchase. If I’m being nakedly honest, people would get in the way and ruin my fantasy.

The same goes for my day-to-day activities. I can’t lie: I do feel a tingle of excitement when I’m the only one in the swimming pool, and it’s utter bliss if you’re the solo patron of a steam room. 

Am I being selfish and spoilt, or is it just how life is going for all of us? So digitally connected with bullets of other people’s communications that we crave and possibly need fewer and fewer human connections, to the point where we literally hide ourselves away?

I’ve noticed the word ‘hide’ constantly repeating in my mind lately. I have to berate myself constantly not to hide away in comfort and actively do what we upright apes have so beautifully evolved to do: Talk, laugh, and converse with other like-minded species. Why has this become so hard for us?

There is a definite difference between our parents’ generation and ours when it comes to facing the real world. They talk constantly, meet up much more regularly, and get thoroughly involved in the community. I know people of my generation do too, but it’s definitely less, or am I imagining it?

Have we really busier lives? The ‘always on’ work routine and pick-up/drop-off schedules with kids have definitely affected my life. By the time I’ve gotten most of my work done for the day, I feel mentally exhausted. But as my mother said to me recently: “What, you don’t think we didn’t feel like that too!”

But here’s the kicker. Every time I think, ‘Oh Jesus, I just can’t face meeting any more people today’, and then I go and talk the ears off a friend (and I occasionally listen too), I feel so much better. 

We all know it’s good for us. We all know it’s the glue that keeps us together.

Last weekend, I was working in West Kerry. I left my phone at home in Limerick, not by design; I just forgot it. I was gone for two days and was three hours away when I realised it.

I panicked. The stress I felt was unbelievable. But I was working, so I soon forgot about it. The day went quickly.

I got back in the car and brought a few people with me to go back to our accommodation. I pulled back the passenger seat, and lo and behold, my phone had fallen under the seat.

After scanning a few emails from my agent and a few WhatsApps, I felt a small twang of shame.

Was this what my panic was over? I had a nicer, better, more connected day without it. I talked to more people, I ate slower, and more importantly, I was excited to meet more people, and my jaw was sore from talking the ears off people.

I love my phone — it’s given me a second career with social media, but maybe it’s time we scheduled our company.