杨锐

“The greatest thing in the world is to know how to belong to oneself.”

—Michel de Montaigne

“世界上最偉大的事，是一个人懂得如何做自己的主人。”

—米歇尔·德·蒙田

I always wanted to live alone. When I was a teenager I had a fantasy about living in my own flat， wearing a Japanese kimono and drinking lapsang souchong1） （I read a lot of Colette2） novels at a formative3） age）. But when I moved in with my boyfriend at the age of 23， I started planning for a new future—one with other people in it.

This all changed when I turned 30. Like Colette in my paperback novels， I had arrived at my “age of reckoning.” I left my boyfriend， went to live with my mum and her partner， and a year later finally moved into my own place. Alone.

Those first few days of being by myself in my flat—decorated with my choice of colours， with my books on the shelves and my pictures， hung by me， on my walls—were disconcerting4）. I walked around the few rooms， wondering what to do now. With no one to move around， no one to talk to， no one to ask me how my day had been， I didnt know where to put myself. The life I had once assumed—the one with a partner and a house and a family—had vanished. Here I was， facing a new future， living by myself.

That trepidation5）， that anxiety， soon turned into a feeling of liberation.

Living alone gave me a sense of freedom I hadnt known Id craved. In my own flat， with my own space， I started to write with a renewed energy. Id spent years writing the first draft of a novel—years filled with interruptions and squeezed space. Within months， I had finished a book.

By taking control of my physical space， I opened up a new emotional space for myself. I was working harder and better than Id ever worked before. My self-image changed with the move， too. I started calling myself a writer. In Woolfspeak， I had found my “room of ones own6）” where I could carve out a space for my creative self.

Despite the fact that Im a radical feminist writer and activist， my ex-partner and I had easily slipped into gendered roles in our shared home. I was convinced that I was rubbish at anything technical， and I hate talking to people on the phone. He took on those jobs， while I did most of the cooking and cleaning.

Moving into my own place， this was no longer possible. I had to call the gas company； I had to learn how to programme my central heating， and tune my TV. No one else was going to do it for me. All these things I had been convinced I couldnt do， convinced I didnt understand， I was forced to learn. I had to become more capable， and fast. I had to become independent.

There is something blissfully selfish about living alone. In a society where women are expected to take on so much domestic and emotional labour， where we are typecast7） as nurturers and carers， living purely for myself has been both a joyful and liberating experience.

Living alone means I am my priority. It feels quite subversive8） or transgressive to say so. And yet， theres something really positive about putting myself first. Everything is designed for me， around me， by me. My space is my own space， and my time is my own time. I dont have to answer to anyone.

Of course， it also means that I am responsible for everything. Its up to me to take out the bins as well as do the cooking. Again， in a world where women carry the burden of domestic labour in relationships， there is something liberating about cleaning up for myself and not after other people. I keep my flat tidy because I want to live in a pleasant space， not because Im carrying the domestic burden for a partner， parent， or child. Taking ownership is empowering.

It would be a lie to say that life doesnt sometimes get lonely. However， I believe we can reframe the way we think about loneliness. We can transform the state of being alone into one that is motivating and empowering. When I start to feel lonely， I go for a walk， watch a film， read a book or take a bath.

Most of all， I write.

Moving into my own place proved to me that I can be capable， independent， and in control of my own space and my life.

And yes—I do have that Japanese kimono， and I do drink lapsang souchong.

我過去总想着要独自生活。十几岁的时候，我幻想过住在属于自己的公寓里，穿着日本和服，饮着正山小种（在那些成长的岁月里，我读了很多柯莱特的小说）。但23岁时，我搬去和男朋友一起住，那时我开始规划新的未来——一个有其他人存在的未来。

到了30岁，这就完全变了。和我的平装小说中的柯莱特一样，我已经到了“思考的年纪”。我离开了男友，和妈妈及其伴侣住在一起。一年之后，我终于搬进自己的地盘。一个人。

公寓装修用的是我喜欢的色彩，书架上摆的是我的书，墙上挂着的是我的照片，而且是我自己挂上去的。但最初一个人在公寓的那几天，我感觉焦躁不安。我在为数不多的几个房间里徘徊，不知道要做些什么。没有人在身边走动，没有人和我说话，没有人问我今天过得怎么样，我不知该如何安放自己。我曾经假设的生活——有一个伴儿、一所房子、一个家的生活——化为了泡影。走到了这一步，我要面对的是崭新的未来，一个人的生活。

这种惊惶和焦虑很快就转变为自由之感。

一个人生活给我带来了一种自由的感觉，这种自由感是我一直渴求却不自知的。我在属于自己的公寓里，有了自己的空间，于是重新打起精神，开始写作。我曾花费几年的时间才完成一部小说的初稿——那几年里我经常被打断，个人空间遭到挤压。现在，几个月内我就写成了一本书。

我通过控制物理空间为自己开辟了新的情感空间。……