Note: In Gretchin Rubin's book and on her blog The Happiness Project , one of her secrets of adulthood that resonates with me is "The opposite of a great truth is also true."  (It's in the book, though not listed on the page linked to in this post.)  In lieu of starting my own Happiness Project, I'm giving myself a blogging challenge: to write recommendations on some of my personal great truths, and their opposites, which are also true.  Try not to fret: I'll do my best to balance the philosophical with the practical and humorous.

The first in this series is . . . .

SOLITUDE

I enjoy being alone.  Perhaps it’s the result of being single until I was 35.  Perhaps it’s my father’s advice: “There are worse things than being happily single, and unhappily married is one of them.”  Perhaps it’s because even after two years I’m deliriously in love with Mark, who spends huge chunks of time in the woods in the winter and on a tractor in the spring and summer, leaving me to my own devices.  Whatever the reason, I don’t mind being by myself.  While some might argue true solitude is spent in solitary reflection, I have my books, my movies, my writing, my phone, my music, my thoughts.  For me, being alone means I get to choose, without guilt or polite consideration of the desires or preferences of others, exactly what I want to do, when I want to do it, precisely how I want to spend my time.

My sixteen year old stepdaughter finds my desire for solitude incomprehensible.  This may be a reflection of the idea Albert Einstein is credited with: "Solitude is painful when one is young, but delightful when one is more mature." 

Being alone, to Sarah, is the worst form of punishment devised.  A true extrovert, she comes alive when in the company of others, regaling them with humorous stories and making them laugh.  “Hilarious!” is her favorite and most oft-used expression.  She admittedly hates the introspection that usually accompanies solitude, much preferring to stay on the pleasant surface of existence rather than delve into its deeper and often dark mysteries. She wishes to always be in the company of someone, from the simplest errand to the grocery store to summer camps: "Can Emily come?" is her first question whenever an activity is mentioned.

I’ve tried to explain to her the joys of solitude.  I’ve cautioned her that being alone is something she can be certain will happen at various points in her life, and developing an appreciation for it will serve her in good stead.  That being still, reflective, and silent, rather than filling every moment with talk, noise, entertainment, and people, is a respite for the soul, a time of self-awareness and growth.  That using other people as a crutch or a shield to insulate us from new experiences, ideas, or people is a weakness.

So far I’ve been unsuccessful.

Perhaps the issue is something as basic as our definitions.  As Paul Johannes Tillich states, “Language... has created the word 'loneliness' to express the pain of being alone.  And it has created the word 'solitude' to express the glory of being alone." 

Being alone: to one it is pain, to another, glory.

Therefore, as much as you can find glory in solitude, I recommend it.

Image from Presentation Zen which includes a link to an article about solitude by Dr. Ester Buchholz.