I Used Virtual Baseball Contests to Beat My Fear of Isolation

I'm going to be really vulnerable here – after my breakup with Sarah, I was scared of isolation. Like, genuinely frightened. I'm referring to the kind of anxiety that had me filling my time into absolute oblivion, arranging activities with people I scarcely enjoyed, participating in organizations I had no interest in, and basically doing everything I could to avoid being in my own apartment with my personal reflections. It was draining, truly, and I was wearing myself out attempting to avoid something that was certain – solitude.

The worst part was that all this hectic pace wasn't actually helping me heal from the split. I was just perpetually redirecting my focus, which meant I wasn't dealing with my emotions or making progress. I was caught in this loop of busyness that was stopping me from actually recovering. Also, let's be honest, constantly being "on" in social mode is absolutely draining. I was becoming increasingly exhausted, which made me even more scared of solitude because I didn't have the strength to deal with my own thoughts.

The critical moment came when I got sick – quite unwell with the virus. I had to cancel everything, and suddenly I was stuck in my apartment for several days with nothing but my thoughts and a very high temperature. It was terrible. I was so anxious and bored that I was literally moving restlessly like a caged animal. That's when I thought of my relative had showed me these online baseball games a few months earlier. I'd played with him a handful of times but hadn't really gotten into it.

Desperate for something to do, I fired up the game. And at first, I'll admit it it was just a diversion – something to click at while my mind was racing. But as I continued playing, I observed something intriguing developing. I was actually enjoying the time I was spending playing. The games were engaging enough that my thoughts weren't chaotic with concerns, but they weren't so intense that I felt overwhelmed.

Here's what genuinely shocked me though – I started looking forward to my alone time. Instead of fearing nights alone, I started planning, "Oh good, I can now concentrate on my sports tactics." It was like this personal sanctuary I could withdraw to that was solely my own. Nobody else's expectations, others' desires – just me and this game that I was truly improving at.

The online community aspect was huge too. When I played against other individuals, I wasn't completely alone, you know? I'd have these little interactions – "good throw," "tough game," stuff like that. It wasn't deep conversation, but it was connection. And sometimes those quick chats would evolve into more detailed dialogues about the game, or about different activities, or occasionally about personal matters. I met people from around the globe who just enjoyed virtual matches. We weren't friends in the usual way, but we were teammates in this tiny online community.

I recall this one evening clearly – I'd been playing for maybe a several hours, and I suddenly understood that I'd totally neglected to worry about solitude. The realization just popped into my head: "Actually, I'm isolated at this moment, and I'm not terrified." And that understanding was massive. It was the debut moment in months that I'd been solitary and not experienced that familiar knot of anxiety in my abdomen.

As I got more relaxed with being alone while playing the games, I started branching out. I'd play for an hour, then enjoy a book for a period. I'd dine by myself and get back to playing instead of instantly messaging someone to arrange activities. The matches turned into this secure foundation that made being alone feel less scary and more like a decision I was taking for myself.

What's fascinating is that as I got increasingly at ease with solitude, my interpersonal bonds actually got better. I wasn't desperately clinging to human engagement anymore, so I could be more present and authentic in them. I quit scheduling events just to prevent isolation and commenced scheduling events because I sincerely wished to be with individuals. The desperation was disappeared, substituted with this peaceful assurance that originated from knowing I could be completely content on my own.

I also realized that I'm actually pretty good at these virtual matches. I began creating strategies, mastering the details of multiple delivery types, figuring out which players had the better performance against certain pitches. There was something genuinely gratifying about improving at something, about observing concrete advancement in my capabilities. And that skillfulness enhanced my self-assurance in other areas of life too. If I could perfect the timing of a perfect swing in a video game, maybe I could manage other obstacles life presented to me.

The games also offered me something to talk about with people that wasn't just my split or how miserable I'd been feeling. I could chat about my recent success run or a particularly tough opponent I'd played against. It was normal, ordinary conversation that wasn't serious or overwrought. It made me feel like my normal self again, not just an individual dealing with challenges.

It's been about a full year now since the split, and really, I'm in such a more positive condition. I still play the baseball games frequently, but now it's because I truly like them, not because I'm escaping anything. I've even made a few real-life friends through the online group – folks I've gathered with for coffee or to see real baseball matches.

What I learned through this complete process is that solitude and loneliness are two completely different things. I had been so fearful of isolation because I linked it to loneliness, but these contests taught me that you can be entirely by yourself and still feel connected and engaged. The anxiety wasn't really about being by myself – it was about being left alone with my thoughts and feelings that I wasn't ready to face. The matches provided me with a gentle way to ease into facing those feelings, to sit with them without being completely overwhelmed.

Now when I notice myself with an surprisingly open night, I don't feel anxious. I don't immediately start texting individuals to make plans. I think about what I truly desire to do – sometimes that's engaging in sports contests, occasionally it's enjoying books, occasionally it's reaching out to a friend, and sometimes it's just resting peacefully and enjoying my own company. The terror is gone, replaced by this serene assurance that I can deal with whatever occurs, whether that's being surrounded by people or savoring my time alone.

I realize this might seem somewhat exaggerated, but those sports contests literally changed my connection to myself. They taught me that I could be my favorite companion, that I didn't need continuous approval from others to feel fine, and that sometimes the best way to connect with others is by first getting comfortable with yourself. And truly, that's a teaching I'll take with me forever, long after I've quit engaging in these contests.