The Difference between Choosing Isolation and Being Forced Into It

 The words of Seneca, the Roman philosopher who lived in the first century CE, really resonate with me. He wrote, "You have to combine and alternate times of solitude and times of sociability. The one awakens in us a longing for people, the other a longing for ourselves" (or, I guess, our own company).

I have found that as I have got older, I have embraced solitude more and more. I blogged about it last year, here. I think I am a true ambivert, which the Google Dictionary defines as, "a person who has a balance of extrovert and introvert features in their personality."

And yet, there is a huge difference between choosing to spend time alone, and being forced to, as many people have learned this year. I probably only left the village once a week, during the first months of this coronavirus crisis, to do the weekly food shop. But, here's the thing - I could have done, if I had wanted to. I am not in an at-risk category, so was not compelled to self-isolate for weeks and months at a time, which has been the fate of many. And in recent weeks, I have even started to lead worship in person again, for a few brave congregations.

Most people have a very natural contrarian streak in them: if they are told they MUST NOT do something, that something becomes even more attractive. Older family members and friends, who truly are vulnerable, have, by and large, shrugged their shoulders and accepted the inevitable. I was so very glad when the concept of 'bubbles' was floated and it became possible to visit my parents once more. But even there, I keep my distance, and keep my visits rare and short. And I have not been able to do any in-person pastoral visits since March. Phoning people is good, but it's not the same.

But I have really missed the possibility of gathering in Unitarian community, at our General Assembly meetings, at Great Hucklow, at Summer School. Virtual meetings just aren't the same. And I do wonder what it will be like next year (?) when we are once more able to meet in person... because I'm guessing it won't be the same. I will be worrying about things I took so much for granted: can I hug people? will it be safe for more vulnerable people to spend so much time in close physical proximity to others? I'm sad to say that I think we are only touching the edges of what we have lost.

The impact of enforced self-isolation has been enormous, particularly in terms of mental health. Which is why it has been so important to reach out to our friends, our community, in new ways. I would guess that at the beginning of this year, hardly anyone of my acquaintance had heard of Zoom, let alone used it. But now we meet for worship, for coffee, for business meetings, just to talk, all the time, using this wonderful software programme.

And it has enabled Unitarians all over the country to keep in touch with each other, to sample each others' worship services, in a way that would have seemed... unbelievable, a few months ago.

I pray that we will continue to find ways to keep in touch with each other, to help those who are forced to self-isolate, to keep their sanity.

Living Like A Tree

Nazim Hikmet wrote, "Living like a tree, single and free, but fraternally like a forest, that is our longing."

Trees, it seems, have found the right balance between solitude and community. Each is splendidly alone, but also together in community. In these days of social distancing, with new lockdowns being announced in the North of England, it is a mind-set we would do well to adopt. Human beings are social creatures, and the solitude of the last few months has been difficult for many (to say the least). "Meeting" via Zoom or Skype or FaceTime is good, but it is no substitute for face-to-face interaction.

I have just spent three wonderful days with a dear friend. We have kept our distance, only sharing two hugs immediately after morning showers. But we sat at opposite corners of her living room and talked and laughed and were together. It made me realise how much I have missed face-to-face friendships.

Yet being alone is not the same as being lonely. Or it need not be. I have blogged about it here and here. To carry on the tree analogy, when we are alone, we can draw nourishment from the roots of our being, from books and meditation and time alone. When we are with others, we can appreciate the splendour of being in community, of sharing the sunlight of good conversation. Both are important, both can nourish our lives.

Loneliness vs Solitude

This week's quotation, by Hans Krailsheimer, really resonated with me, "To *have to* be alone is most difficult; to *be able to* be alone is most beautiful."

I have always liked being alone - more chances to read! - but until a few years ago, there was always the nagging doubt of "Am I missing out on something?" I needed the validation of other people's presence and approval to function.

But over the last ten years or so, as my spiritual journey has moved on, two steps forward, one step back, I have come to truly appreciate the benefits of solitude. I looked at the photo above and my first reaction was "Oh, I wish..." It all looks so peaceful; the white house in the sunshine, set in the natural world, and the small white boat in the foreground... I longed to be there.

Loneliness is a terrible thing... you feel unloved, unwanted, as though the world has passed you by. Whereas solitude, the ability to spend time alone, by your own choice, with the Spirit, can be wonderful. I have also come to love silence, and no longer feel the need to fill all the spaces in my life with words. To sit in silence is to be at peace.

So I would love to spend some time in that little white house, with a desk, my laptop, and endless supply of tea and coffee, and time to write. Bliss. No phone calls, no texts, no e-mails, no calls on my time. I would write and write, then take a break to walk in the landscape, or perhaps take a turn on the water. Then return to the house, to write again.

I think that the key thing is balance. While I would love to spend *some* time in that house - perhaps a week, perhaps two, I would begin to miss people after that. There are few pleasures I enjoy more than sharing the evening time with my husband, half watching something on TV, half doing a craft - cross-stitch, crochet. Because sharing your solitude with another can also be wonderful.

The Difference between Loneliness and Solitude

The different German to English translation engines had trouble with this week's quotation, from Wilhelm von Humboldt: "Die wenigsten Menschen verstehen, wie unendlich viel in der Einsamkeit liegt."

Some talked about "infinite loneliness" which I thought missed the point. My favourite translation is: "Very few people understand how infinitely much there is (can be found) in solitude."

Because there is a huge difference between feeling lonely and being alone. The first is a negative emotion, in which the person feels incomplete without the company of others. The second is a simple statement of fact. Being alone can be a time of rich contemplation, or of simple enjoyment of one's own company, or a welcome retreat from the hurly-burly of life.

I used to be afraid of loneliness and found the company of people infinitely preferable. As I have got older, and farther on in my spiritual journey, I find that I welcome solitude, as a time to think, to reflect, to spend time in my own company, to come near to the Divine. And if I spend too much time in the company of too many people, I need a lot of time alone to come back to myself.

True extroverts will find this hard to understand, but introverts and ambiverts will be reading with little cries of recognition. I'm not saying "I want to be alone" a la Garbo, but that I need some kind of balance between being with people and being on my own.

Of course, I do like being with people (I'm a minister, after all!) and being in Unitarian community is an important part of my life. But the time when I am on my own is when I do my best thinking, when I can read for hours without feeling guilty, when I can meditate, pray, write. I find I am at my best alone, or in the company of one or two dear friends or family members.