College isn’t the only time one can feel loneliness strike. In fact, I recognized loneliness much more in my two graduate programs.
 
Like college, few people knew one another. We bonded over classes and looked the other way at personality flaws that our peers exhibited. In my second grad program I met so many people dealing with mental health issues. There were barely functioning alcoholics. Few of us seemed to be aware of how to handle relationships—either friendships or dating.
 
In both grad programs I found myself close to some people one semester and then distanced from them the next. I’d meet someone at a party, find them fascinating, dream of what our relationship or friendship might become, and then never see them again. They’d sit in my mind for days or weeks, until the next person came along for whom I’d pin all my hopes of connection.
 
My mental health wasn’t stable during those years and I was too scared to come out and share my problems. I felt loneliness creep into my life. There were peers in my program with whom I felt a connection, but they always seemed to have plans with other people. I couldn’t decide if it was me or them or both of us. Why couldn’t we connect when I saw how much we were all drowning in our despair and loneliness?
 
By my second year of my American Studies grad program I was in the depths of research on my thesis topic: Christian scare films of the 1970s. Needless to say, I was one of the only people working on this subject in the United States. This made it difficult to connect with others on the thing that engulfed my life for nine months.

This disconnect left me feeling even lonelier. In both my graduate programs people bonded over their connection with school. They threw themselves into sex and drinking. This allowed them to deal with the awkwardness, the anxiety, and the introverted nature they were trying to overcome.

For my part, I dated, went to house parties, and threw myself into my school work. With my American Studies program, I spent long hours tucked away in the graduate program’s office, a windowless cinder block rectangle. It was a cold, dark room, but I could be alone and not bothered there on Sunday afternoons and evenings.

Looking back I see how the alcohol and mental health issues exacerbated our relationships. These things prohibited our ability to make connections. We were so desperate to meet others and find a sense of belonging that we tried relationships with people we otherwise might never have. Our school brought us closer together but it wasn’t enough.

What I should’ve done during this time was seek others who shared similar interests as me. I didn’t even know who I was then or what I wanted. But using something like the EASE method would’ve been of great help.

If you are considering going to get a masters degree or PhD, know that graduate school can be a very lonely time. It can also be quite exciting. Prepare yourself, mentally, for the challenges that may come with being in a new place and new people. Know that as you get focused in your area of study, it may cause you to feel quite alone. Make preparations to extend yourself to find others.

The power is in your hands to make graduate school a success, not only on an academic level but also on a social one.
 
 
Like what you read? Want to have Kurt come talk to your group about belonging, loneliness, and mental health? Click here to contact him about speaking at your event.

I’ve been struggling with patience. And not only recently. My lack of patience has been an issue for me for a long time. Something happened many years ago—I attempted to take my life. That was a difficult time in my life, but I’ve come out of that place with a clearer direction of who I want to be and where I want to go.
 
There was a time in my life where I wanted to try everything. I wanted to be a stand-up comedian, I wanted to act in plays, I wanted to be a well-known writer. I had dreams of saving up money to travel the world for a year. I thought about learning to climb mountains. Yet I’ve come to realize that unfortunately, we don’t have enough time in our lives to do all that we desire.
 
So we have to focus. And for my part I’ve chosen to focus on mental health. Sharing my experiences with loneliness and mental health issues enables me to do public speaking (which I enjoy) as well as travel.
 
I’ve always been a person who lacks patience, though. I want things to be over with so I can get to the good stuff: the trips I’ve planned, the holidays I enjoy, the visits from friends. I want work to be over so I can go to the gym, and then I want the gym to be over so I can go home and take a shower. Then I want the night to be over so I can sleep and the work week to be over because on the weekends I get to work on what I really desire: my writing and speaking.
 
In doing so I often miss the simple pleasures of life: the warmth of the sun, the fine writing of a good sentence in a book, the soft fur of my cat.
 
My lack of patience also causes me to not appreciate my successes. I look past when I do things I enjoy such as speak with audiences or share a story that gets a good laugh. I acknowledge it, but never seem to fully appreciate it.

I want to go to the next thing and complete my next goal.

I find that my lack of patience can raise my irritability. It leads me to become grumpy when things don’t go the right way. I can also get depressed and desperate. When a success seems as though it’s a year or two away and will need a great deal of work I can despair. I worry that my depression and anxiety will overwhelm me before then.

So what can I do in these situations?

1. Take some time to slow down and appreciate the little things. I’ve found meditation helps me relax and learn to focus on what is bothering me. I can appreciate my breath. I may not always be able to stop at any time during the day and enjoy my experience at that moment, but I’m at least trying and that’s worth something.
 
2. Recognize during those times of anxiety and impatience that “This too shall pass.” I will get to my goal at some point, as I have so many times before. And when that happens…
 
3. Enjoy and celebrate those successes. Go out to dinner with friends, make myself a cake, tell my friends and family. We all deserve love and respect no matter what goes on. There’s nothing wrong with loving ourselves. We can show the same appreciation for a job well done as we would for a friend who accomplishes something great.


Like what you read? Want to have Kurt come talk to your group about belonging, loneliness, and mental health? Click here to contact him about speaking at your event.

I’m not a very competitive person. I don’t play sports and don’t care who wins big events like the Super Bowl or the NBA finals. Over the years my competitive nature has dwindled and gone extinct for the most part. There is an exception, though.
 
I realized in the past year that I am a competitive person when it comes to storytelling. I would never have guessed it, but when I go to storytelling contests, I want to do very well. I want the judges and crowd to like me. I put a lot of practice into my stories and try and sculpt them to be perfect.
 
Last fall I told a serious story about how a friend helped draw me out of a suicidal situation. I told it for The Moth and this particular event happened at a comedy club. The crowd was greater than any of the StorySlams in which I’d participated. I’ve talked about mental health at storytelling events quite often and gotten a good response. But that was from people who were in a lounge environment. These folks expected humor, given that this event was at a comedy club. While the stories didn’t have to be funny, I could tell the crowd wasn’t going to be on my side as I shared about a personal, deep subject.
 
When I finished, the scores came in and they were nowhere near what I hoped. I wasn’t going to win. It stung to not do as well as I hoped, but even more so because I had made myself vulnerable. I spoke in front of a bunch of strangers who were not my usual audience. I put personal feelings out there—deep ones that tied to some of the lowest parts of my life. Once I saw those scores, I left the venue. I felt dejected and hurt. All that practice and self-exposure and all I got were a few laughs and a crummy score.
 
Yet, in some ways, this is what my life has become: making myself vulnerable. Recently, I watched Brené Brown’s special on Netflix, The Call to Courage. In it she speaks of the effort it takes to be vulnerable and asks us to take on that challenge.

In our culture there is an idealization of the “loner.” The person who doesn’t need any friends and is okay with being on their own. They’re depicted as strong and don’t need support from anyone or anything. They have a sense of fortitude that can withstand all sorts of storms.
 
When I think of the loner what comes to mind is a romanticized figure like James Dean. Or, I’m reminded of this scene from Pee Wee’s Big Adventure: