Solitude

You might have heard all the bells and whistles about learning to be in solitude. It’s not the purpose of this text to point out the rather obvious. Because something struck me this Saturday night, in my room, listening to Weezer, with my cat sleeping at the foot of the bed, ironing my wardrobe.

I’m having a blast. Those are things that you can’t do with other people. I mean, of course you can, although the experience will be different. Not better, not worse, just different. This moment won’t be the same if someone (other than my cat) were here with me. I’ll be conscious that there’s another human being close to me. My thoughts and actions are inevitably going to take other pathways, fairly different from being on my own. The same is true for the person that’s with me. It goes both ways.

You learn about yourself by experiencing life in different ways. Plenty of those scenarios include being surrounded by people and getting to know how to play in such ways that it’s enjoyable for everybody in the room. If a room doesn’t make sense, you can say at least you tried, and leave. There are plenty of other rooms to join.

But… do you know what a room that doesn’t make sense feels like? And if so, do you know how to leave? Or when to keep trying because this is the room you should be in?

Being in solitude creates space so you can connect your conscious to the unconscious. To peek a bit more into the complex ramifications that runs your system. In turn, you learn the bad and good parts of it. Then, maybe, you can negotiate and make promises. You run into despair and confusion, throwing everything you have at a wall, blinded. Only in hopes of bringing balance and peace to an already convoluted, mesmerizing, traumatized, pointless, yet exciting and brilliant circus.

No one else can do that work except you. You might receive support from others, which is fair. But you have to carry the weight yourself. It doesn’t work if someone lifts weights for you. If you want muscles, you have to do the work yourself. After all you went through, you might reach a point where you can truly enjoy yourself in those stages. Just like I am, right now. That’s solitude.

By the time it took me to download these thoughts, Weezer went off. “Berry Fruits” black loose leaf tea, second cup already. Macbook Air M1 2020 base model, still going strong for introspective creative work, and getting humbled by the performance of my web engineering work. If they don’t run smoothly here, 95% chance I’ve done something wrong. My Obsidian vault of mostly unfinished streams of thoughts is ~Messy, like Olivia Dean’s album playing in the background. Cat’s still sleeping with her belly up. God I wish I would have that level of (dis)connection every night. How does she do that? Honorable mention to LLMs because they are such a marvel. And my family, for sharing a peaceful day yesterday in Yerba Buena—a place where green creeps up every wall, where buildings stay low to honor the hills and sky, where modern commerce blends with quiet countryside, and where the air feels thick full of oxygen. […]

I don’t need that much to be fulfilled. I think it decreases over time. Paradoxically, it seems like I’m having more and more of what I love. It’s interesting. I realized that if at some point I’m in the wrong room, it’s because it doesn’t feel like solitude. Rather, it’s more like being alone. Feeling alone should be the signal that something needs to be reconsidered. Keep looking for those rooms where you can genuinely celebrate presence, be it in the company of other people, or just you, by yourself, as in solitude.