thoughts about solitude

19-Apr-2025

I like to be alone sometimes. That may seem misanthropic—perhaps, partially, it is—but such tendencies aren’t rooted in disdain for the company of those around me. I am blessed with meaningful relationships that I treasure, whether familial, romantic, or platonic. I know that I am fortunate; yet there are simply moments where I would rather be alone—existing independently from those I care about.

Life laughs at pleads for respite. We are each our own hurricanes, and when storms converge, winds grow fiercer—chaos multiplying chaos. As time progresses and new storms intersect, I find myself juggling more responsibility, managing more deadlines, and balancing more meetings. Ever changing and unrelenting, I find that one of the few constants I can count on is the feeling of teetering on the precipice of “too much.”¹

When alone, I feel the world still, for just a moment. I can breathe and finally, let go. This isn’t to suggest that social interaction is inherently overwhelming, but there is a level of “thought” that company necessarily entails. Seclusion relinquishes this burden, witticisms need not be articulated, questions can be left unanswered, and I may simply be.

I recognize this behavior as selfish. While I indulge in solitude and bask in the quiet, the world continues to spin. The responsibilities that I willingly shoulder do not dissipate and only multiply in intensity. There is a measurable cost to my isolation: time slips away, efficiency falters, and inevitably, within the hour, I find myself hastily “catching up” on work or relationships momentarily abandoned. The quantifiable metrics of life rarely favor my retreats.

And yet, in the presence of myself, my mind and surroundings still. There is indulgence in this, and perhaps sloth, but I’ve come to accept that not all must bend towards productivity or the service of something higher. Though they don’t contribute to my to-do list or directly benefit anyone, I enjoy these moments per se. These pauses might not be efficient, but they feel necessary. After all, these selfish acts of solitude may be the very thing allowing me to weather the tempests that inevitably arise.