Solitude

Dictionary.com defines solitude like this:

sol·i·tude
noun

1. The state or quality of being alone or remote from others.
2. A lonely or secluded place.

Thesaurus.com has these matching entries for solitude:

Entry: desert
Function: noun
Definition: wasteland

Entry: desolation
Function: noun
Definition: barrenness

Entry: seclusion
Function: noun
Definition: isolation

Entry: secrecy
Function: noun
Definition: concealment

Hmm. Not much positive sounding stuff in that lot, now is there? And yet, in the quiet times, when I come face-to-face with my life, I cannot escape the realization that my existence is evolving into one being gradually consumed by solitude. Now, those of you with whom I spend time and share many laughs will no doubt have difficulty accepting my self-evaluation. How, you might be asking, could I possibly view my life as remote or lonely when I spend time with friends sharing a meal, movie, or play, or simply just passing some time in idle chit-chat at Starbucks?

It’s a good question, I grant you. But I think there is an answer, or at least some intriguing ideas. While I do whole-heartedly enjoy the time I spend with others, those social moments represent no more than a blip of time in comparison to the time I selfishly guard as alone time. Just to be clear here, this is not the plea of a lonely man for companionship! Rather, I mention it only to help you understand the introspection that follows.

I’m someone who lives inside. No, not like in a house, we all do that. I mean, I live inside my head. For the bits of my life that I share with others, there is a vast profusion of thought that has gone on in the grey matter to arrive at the distillation of thought that gets shared. Given how endlessly chatty I can be, I’m sure that shocks and scares many of you to know that what you hear is but the tiny tip of the iceberg of thought that has transpired to produce the bits that I share. Count yourselves lucky!

I spend a substantial amount of my time alone. That is, to some degree, by choice. The question now becomes, "Why"? Is it purely by choice that I have, not infrequently, found myself leaving for work on Monday morning suddenly struck by the realization that I am stepping outside for the first time since Friday night? Setting aside the fact that I just need to get more exercise than that, is being alone that much something I should worry about?

There is, of course, a thread here to earlier posts in this blog. I have written about making a concerted effort to find a partner. In the back of my mind there was this nagging thought about solitude. I alluded to it earlier when I wrote about the balance between "wanting to be with someone" more than "wanting to be alone" and how that tipping of the scale may be what causes someone to finally “find” a partner. But this treatise takes that thought in a different direction.

Are some people content to live lives of solitude? It is possible that the desire to be alone a majority of the time isn’t pathology, but rather, an acceptable learned behavior, or possibly an inherited behavior? Does depression spring from being alone, or does the depression come from the guilt felt because the desire to be alone exists? If I were to embrace my need for solitude, rather than feel guilty and somehow wrong for having the desire, would I ultimately be a happier and more productive person? After all, it is only in the times of solitude that I am quiet enough to write. It is only in the times of solitude that I am able to search beneath the surface and pull up the underlayment of my life to find what has slipped through the fibers and lurks beneath the obvious.

I have long known this fundamental truth about myself: I require a substantial amount of “regeneration time” to recuperate from being the person that I am in social situations (be they work or pleasure). Many of the personality profile tests explain it in the following way. In a social situation, either a party or even an one-on-one casual encounter, extroverts are energized. They feed off the energy of other people and go away recharged and invigorated looking for more of the same. On the other hand, introverts like me, find being social an exhausting affair. Instead of walking away filled with energy, we walk away looking for a quiet place to disengage and regenerate. Not that I don’t enjoy being social. I DO! But the two types of personalities are left in distinctly different states by the same encounter.

Does the amount of solitude I require to remain socially functional preclude me from sharing my life with a full-time partner? Would simply being in the presence of another human being that much prevent me from getting my needed regeneration time? I have often joked that the only reason Alan and I dated for so long was because we seldom ever saw one another, and the only reason Dennis and I dated for so long was because he slept most of the time we spent together. So, baring a long-distance or narcoleptic partner, is this just one aspect of life that I need to be aware of in searching for a partner? Or, is that really the test of a good match? Would I no longer require nor desire to have so much solitude if I were to find the “right guy”?

I hope you weren’t expecting answers to these questions. I don’t really have any. Although I many not be able to answer the why’s and how’s of the matter, I have to believe that there is value in simply voicing the questions and that just accepting that the desire for solitude exists makes it a little less scary to be alone.