How to Be Queer and Alone on Valentine's Day

The author of How to Be Alone talks queer loneliness and how to subvert expectations on a hard day to be single.

“I always joke that I’m attracted to all genders and yet I have no one,” Lane Moore laughs. But in her new book How to Be Alone, the GLAAD Award-winning writer, musician, comedian, actor, and now author hopes to share not just her own experiences with loneliness, but how others might handle their own as well.

Dealing with family instability from a young age, Moore chronicles in How to Be Alone a life spent learning how to make her way on her own. She writes of her queer youth, including complicated feelings for a best friend she adored; hopeless yet hopeful romanticism in spite of dating clueless or cruel people who refused to share their hearts; starting a career while a cup of soup was a splurge; and much more, with an honesty and rawness that’s simultaneously courageous and infectious. Along the way, she shares insights about how she made it through, how she handled that best friend telling her they got “too close”; how she learned to love herself first in the wake of romantic partners who took advantage of her; how she is still a work in progress.

Loneliness and queerness in so many ways go hand in hand; social isolation and societal marginalization are sadly never far apart. But it is through art that a community can find itself again, hear the voice of someone who has struggled or perhaps continues to struggle, and feel connected anew. The timeline of queer artists who have explored loneliness is a long one, including everything from Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray to Dee Rees’s Pariah, and countless others.

“What I wanted to do was write a book about not having proper support systems, being alone, how that impacts every single aspect of your life, having that lifelong struggle with connection, and telling it through snapshots in my own life,” she says. In that way, How to Be Alone addresses loneliness both inherent and inherited. It is also especially timely during Valentine’s Day, when it’s always difficult to be on your own. In time for the holiday, Moore spoke with them. about queer loneliness, self-preservation, being single, and making holidays whatever you want them to be.

How did you emotionally prepare yourself to write this book?

I probably should have [laughs]. But I don’t know that I should or could have. Often when people write books like this, they have this incredible support system — their family, partner, network, or at least one of those. That’s why they’re able to write it. Here I was writing a book about not having any of that while not having any of that. Like writing a book about skydiving without a parachute while skydiving without a parachute. I wanted to communicate that often, people are trying to teach others what they’re trying to learn themselves. That’s the case with me and How to Be Alone. I still have to walk myself through feeling really lonely.

How did you want to share the specific experience of queer loneliness writing this book?

One of the coolest things is hearing so many queer people write me and say, “Whoa, I didn’t realize how much of this I really felt.” There is a certain, specific type of loneliness for queer people, especially in high school. There’s that extra added layer of “I can’t really be who I am.” It’s completely different than a cis straight dude having that cisgender, heteronormative connection. When you’re queer, you’re dealing with your identity, others’ identity, your identity together. You know you’re different and you don’t know why. You feel like something is wrong with you because you’re not like many people you know. So many books about having a difficult childhood as a queer person were about someone’s parents disliking them because they were queer. We see fewer stories where you have a difficult relationship with your family that has nothing to do with your queerness. I’m really glad I was able to tell my story, where it wasn’t directly connected.

How did you want to address stereotypical queer loneliness narratives with these essays?

We ask queer people to have these beautiful, funny, light coming out stories. So many of us do not. That’s another form of loneliness. Like, oh, shit, I forgot to pick up the most perfect, adorable, lighthearted, positive coming out story at Target! I wonder if things would be different if I had a really great childhood but was queer. That is a narrative that we’re fed. This person’s queer and they had an amazing family, but oh no, they’re queer! And that’s their biggest problem, but they’ve got all this love and support and money around them! That’s inaccurate for so many of us.

How do you think reading a book like this would have helped you when you were younger?

It would have changed my entire life. I never read anything that made me feel like someone had experienced, understood, or could relate to what I was feeling. I know the power of art that’s able to reflect your reality and make you feel less alone. That’s been everything to me. Some books touch on elements of my story, but in their dedication it would say, “To my loving family who’s always been there and to my partner who’s the best best best and always feeds me nachos while I write!” and I’m like oh, my god, you don’t get it, you don’t get it! So many narratives are like, “I had a really rough year 10 years ago but now I’m rich, married, happy, and fine.” I’ve never related to those books. If I had seen a book like this — where I share how my life was really hard and how I internalized it, and how things are still hard but how I’ve made it easier — I think I would have saved myself a lot of pain.

In your book, you talk quite a bit about being a hopeless romantic. Why is this something that’s sometimes looked down on, and why do you think people shouldn’t do that?

I think so much of dating now is just like, why can’t we just “do whatever?” Well, you can, but some people don’t want to “do whatever.” For the queer community as well the heterosexual community, there is the “chillification” of dating. So many people are like “Um, hey, I want courting and we really love each other and is that not what we’re doing? Okay, bye!” It does feel very uncool to want it. People say, “Oh, what are you doing? That’s so regressive.” Is it? Why? You’re allowed to want what you want.

Valentine’s Day is a notoriously hard day to be single. How is it something you handle on such a couple-centric holiday?

I think it’s making it whatever you need that day. In How to Be Alone I talk a lot about making any holiday or celebration that’s hard for you into whatever you want it to be. There is so much pressure to do what others want. All you can really do is go deeper into your own work on yourself. I don’t think it’s very compassionate to beat yourself up because you haven’t found the right person yet. I don’t think it’s compassionate to compare yourself to your friends, even though we all do. I think the best thing you can do is try to look at all the ways you’re lovable and deepen that. That’s one thing you can control.

What are some of your favorite ways to queer traditional Valentine's Day narratives, and what tips do you have for single queer folks navigating Valentine’s Day?

By being queer on Valentine’s Day you’ve queered Valentine’s Day. And don’t blame yourself for being single. Realize you’re not alone because you’re queer. People of every orientation feel that way. If you’re in a small town absolutely that pressure can be there. Your odds are slimmer. But to the person in a small town who’s queer and feels that’s why they’re single, hey buddy, I’m queer in a city with millions of people and I’m single as well. I have better odds and I still haven’t found what I’m looking for. A lot of it is timing and luck. It doesn’t have anything to do with deserving or not deserving love. Everyone deserves love.

Sissy Family