This weekend my friends leave the island.

It is not forever, it’s just four months or so, and I know they are within reach if I have a disaster, or a momentary lack of faith in myself, or start to wonder if I’ve made the right decision.

I made a choice, albeit down to circumstances out of my control, to live alone, to be single, and subsequently to start this new adventure solo – and it was a couple of years ago now. I don’t regret it, I embrace the freedom and the lack of baggage, but sometimes it is a strange place to be when I see everyone else my age forming a life surrounded by people they have chosen to be their loved ones 24/7.

Unless I find work, my day to day life is me, alone, with moments of speaking to supermarket staff, bar staff, or taxi drivers in my appalling faux Spanish.

However, being truly alone day after day is the reality for a lot of people – they don’t have 200 genuine friends on Facebook, at least 25 people they could call if a chat is required, and half a dozen family members somewhere in the world – my family travel more than I do, but we would also fly to be with each other as needed.

I’ve felt lonely in the past, especially when I haven’t been honest with friends and family about my life and the secrets and struggles therein. I have had periods of self doubt, fear and insecurity. I have held my troubles close because I worried that I would be judged and the outside perception of me was all I had left. I have phoned a self help line to have them tell me to call a friend, and not known who to call.

But now, even though I’m alone, I don’t feel lonely. I feel lucky.