The Art of Solitude
In a country that prides itself on rugged individualism, it’s striking how many of us struggle with the art of being truly alone. The only time we often spend with our thoughts is during our commute or while standing under the shower each evening, scrubbing away the horrors of Corporate America. Even then, we often drown out our inner voice with music or podcasts, fearing what might rise to the surface if we let those thoughts speak.
Our world bombards us with distractions at every turn. Our phones provide instant access to an unrelenting stream of opinions, making it all too easy to surrender to the current rather than fight to form our own. The art of quieting this noise and hearing the whispers in the silence demands practice. Like any craft, it takes time and patience to master.
When you meet a friend for dinner, you usually put thought into the occasion. You pick a charming restaurant with great food and wear something that makes you feel confident. But have you ever put the same care into spending time with yourself? In truth, many of us aren’t willing to invest the same effort in our own well-being that we do for others. We value the relationships we build externally and the experiences they bring, but hesitate to direct that same energy inward.
Don’t get me wrong—community is vital. It provides the experiences that help shape us into the people we’re meant to be. But if left unchecked, it can also attempt to dictate who we are and how we should act.
In nature, when an organism gives more to its community than itself, it withers. This imbalance is unsustainable. Prioritizing our own needs is crucial, not just for survival, but for thriving. Much like how mothers are instructed to put on their own oxygen masks first in emergencies, we must tend to our own well-being to grow stronger and support others effectively.
I once believed that community came first, with finding yourself following naturally. But when I moved to New York City, where I had no established friends or family, that philosophy was flipped upside down. Everywhere I looked, I saw established friend groups that seemed impenetrable. In response, I became a recluse.
When I made plans to go out alone, fear would show up, knocking on my door before I could get the chance to leave. When I saw its familiar face peeking through the peephole, I’d sink to the ground, waiting for its departure. My plans turned to dust.
After months of this, I grew tired of the charade. One day, I unlocked the deadbolt and let fear walk right in. I offered it a cup of tea before I grabbed its hand and took it with me out the door. It came with me to a pizza spot I’d been dying to try for months, where the wait time was over an hour. But I was immediately seated at the bar, the hostess unaware of my secret companion. Fear sat silently beside me as I read a good book and struck up conversations with the bartenders—who, by the way, hold all of the city's best-kept secrets. Then, fear journeyed home with me, only abandoning me once I was safely back in my apartment.
I wish I could tell you that fear stopped showing up—that the more brave I became, the less it came to knock on my door. But that just isn’t the case. Every time I push myself even slightly outside my comfort zone, fear shows up like clockwork. I’ve learned to simply reach out my hand and invite it along for the ride. Fear is a natural response; it’s our body’s way of looking out for us. It’s not going anywhere, but you don’t have to follow its lead.
The more I went out and intentionally spent time alone, the more I truly got to know myself. Simple things, like how my favorite pizza topping is spicy sausage, and more complex revelations, like how I’d rather spend time alone than with a group of people who make me feel invisible. The more I embraced myself, quirks and all, the more genuine community began to form. I started meeting people who took the time to truly see me, and liked what they saw.
The harsh truth of life is that there will be times when we find ourselves alone. A friend might cancel plans last minute, or a romantic relationship could end. We can’t avoid these moments. The only real choice we have is whether or not we let them stop us from moving forward.
So, the next time you’re tempted to cancel or avoid plans because you’ll be alone and fear has shown up on your doorstep, I challenge you to reconsider. Be brave enough to wine and dine yourself or go see the movie on your own. Embrace the solitude. Who knows, you might even discover you enjoy your own company.
With a love for art and mischief,
The Cheeky Cherub