Wednesday
Jan162008
Is Anybody There?
Wednesday, January 16, 2008 at 01:32AM
There is a fine line, I suppose, between loneliness and solitude. Loneliness, I think, is more self-centered. It's more inward-looking. When a person feels alone, they often express things like, "I wish there was someone out there for me," or, "I'm tired of being alone all the time," or, "Why can't I be with someone." Loneliness is, perhaps, a state of hyper self-awareness, accompanied by a dulling of the awareness of things external. Loneliness is a sort of disconnect from things and people outside of ones self.
(I don't want to diminish the value, the appropriateness even, of certain amounts of loneliness. Just as we need nourishment from food, we also need the nourishment we derive from company. We are created as social creatures; we need to inter-relate, to form bonds and friendships, to discourse, to stand in relief against others. I suspect loneliness sometimes acts like hunger, a warning signal that we need some social nourishment. Too much or unresolved loneliness is not just unhealthy, it's downright dangerous if left untreated. A little bit of loneliness, however, might do our souls a bit of good. It may drive us to interact, to step out, to live.)
Solitude, on the hand, usually involves the physical fact of being alone without the accompanying feelings of loneliness. Additionally, like some, I tend to think of solitude as being alone with something bigger than myself. The beach. The mountains. The desert. God. In this respect I suppose solitude is more outward looking. A person recognizes the state of being alone, but this fact is more than counter-balanced by an appreciation of the external environment, and the embracing of the internal dialog which, as a result of being alone, occurs. The real joy of being "out there" all alone is the opportunity to focus intently on the "out there," to allow the "out there" to be your companion.
As I've come to realize over the years, to really benefit from solitude, to be good at it, a person needs to be very much comfortable being their own company, not a thing everyone has mastered. You have to be able to refrain from putting pressure on yourself to do...anything. You have to allow yourself to think or to not think. To reflect or not reflect, to ponder or not ponder, to mull or not mull. Solitude is great for having deep, momentous conversations with yourself, for really "figuring it all out." Solitude is also great for going hours without having a single thought worth having. Solitude allows you to spend 6 hours thinking about your place in the universe, or to spend 6 hours thinking about the hangnail on your pinkie finger. Not everyone has the ability to allow themselves to do this; it's an art and it takes practice. You have to learn to like your own company and you have to learn to enjoy the company something other than people (the beach, the mountains, etc..)
I suppose this all could come across as a bit new-agey; it shouldn't. If you know me at all you know that's not how I operate or how I believe. But having spent considerable time by myself in some awesome places, you'll have to trust me when I say that few things I've experienced can match the pure bliss of being alone, of being internally quiet and at rest, and having something much bigger than myself to hear.
(By the way, Big Bend National Park is primo for finding all the solitude you could want. I highly recommend it.)
(I don't want to diminish the value, the appropriateness even, of certain amounts of loneliness. Just as we need nourishment from food, we also need the nourishment we derive from company. We are created as social creatures; we need to inter-relate, to form bonds and friendships, to discourse, to stand in relief against others. I suspect loneliness sometimes acts like hunger, a warning signal that we need some social nourishment. Too much or unresolved loneliness is not just unhealthy, it's downright dangerous if left untreated. A little bit of loneliness, however, might do our souls a bit of good. It may drive us to interact, to step out, to live.)
Solitude, on the hand, usually involves the physical fact of being alone without the accompanying feelings of loneliness. Additionally, like some, I tend to think of solitude as being alone with something bigger than myself. The beach. The mountains. The desert. God. In this respect I suppose solitude is more outward looking. A person recognizes the state of being alone, but this fact is more than counter-balanced by an appreciation of the external environment, and the embracing of the internal dialog which, as a result of being alone, occurs. The real joy of being "out there" all alone is the opportunity to focus intently on the "out there," to allow the "out there" to be your companion.
As I've come to realize over the years, to really benefit from solitude, to be good at it, a person needs to be very much comfortable being their own company, not a thing everyone has mastered. You have to be able to refrain from putting pressure on yourself to do...anything. You have to allow yourself to think or to not think. To reflect or not reflect, to ponder or not ponder, to mull or not mull. Solitude is great for having deep, momentous conversations with yourself, for really "figuring it all out." Solitude is also great for going hours without having a single thought worth having. Solitude allows you to spend 6 hours thinking about your place in the universe, or to spend 6 hours thinking about the hangnail on your pinkie finger. Not everyone has the ability to allow themselves to do this; it's an art and it takes practice. You have to learn to like your own company and you have to learn to enjoy the company something other than people (the beach, the mountains, etc..)
I suppose this all could come across as a bit new-agey; it shouldn't. If you know me at all you know that's not how I operate or how I believe. But having spent considerable time by myself in some awesome places, you'll have to trust me when I say that few things I've experienced can match the pure bliss of being alone, of being internally quiet and at rest, and having something much bigger than myself to hear.
(By the way, Big Bend National Park is primo for finding all the solitude you could want. I highly recommend it.)
in Whatnot
Whatnot
Reader Comments (2)
Have spent numerous trips to the triangle of solitude that makes up Marathon, Alpine, and Big Bend? Do you have a favorite hike? Do you prefer the basin or the back country?
You'd think with my last name I'd know not to put a question mark at the end of my first sentence.