Six years ago after surviving a category 5 hurricane on Grand Cayman where I was living at the time and months later recovering from injuries received in a nasty car accident here at home, I found myself in a far different place.  Well, I thought so anyway.  In my mind I was relatively sure then of my arrival at a higher and distinct level of awareness.  And I had arrived, but to a much lesser degree than I thought at the time.  What really had happened was a change had begun in earnest, but had only just started.  Being embroiled still in old behaviors my life then was a contradiction of the new I was gaining understanding of versus the old dysfunctions that were deeply engrained and still practiced. 

Those were the days when I set out on one of the most frustrating projects I ever attempted.  Once settled after moving back stateside and with a left arm that worked again after the accident, I began the attempt to write a book called “Learning to be Still”.  At the time I thought truly my experiences had taught me how.  However, the turmoil internally created conflict that made my belief only an illusion.  In trying to write about being still, I came to know that I really had no idea how. 

While I am still not fully prepared to honestly write a book about “being still”, living alone for over four years now has taught me much about loneliness and solitude.  Those lessons I know now are big steps in “learning to be still”. 

Loneliness for me is a negative state and causes me to feel a sense of isolation. When directed by that feeling, I feel like something is missing. I discovered I could be with people and still feel lonely for someone else—for me perhaps the most bitter form of loneliness I have ever experienced.  Feeling lonely can not be sated easily or quickly and trying to do so only brings more difficulty for me. 

In time I discovered solitude which I now think of as a state of being alone without being lonely. When I am able to be content in solitude I find it to be a positive and constructive state of being in touch with myself.  Only in recent times have I comprehended that solitude is a state of being alone when I can provide myself with good and sufficient company.  Being alone no longer is the unsettling experience it previously was… at least most of the time. 

Loneliness always feels harsh.  For me being lonely is a state of deficiency, a state of discontent marked by a sense of estrangement and an awareness of excess aloneness.  My belief is loneliness is a feeling of depression resulting from my thoughts and feelings about being by myself.  More than anything it is my state of mind concerning being alone that turns alone-ness in to loneliness. 

On the other hand, solitude is a time I use for reflection, inner searching, meditation, growth and self-enjoyment. I do my best reading and comprehension in solitude.  Thinking and creativity are usually sharper too.  Solitude brings me peacefulness stemming from a feeling of inner richness. When it is upon me I can enjoy the quiet and whatever it brings as satisfying and from it I can draw sustenance. Solitude did not come easily to me nor does it always come when I want it to.  It is something I continue to cultivate out of the ground of loneliness.

Solitude is something I choose. Loneliness is imposed on me by my thoughts of lack.  Solitude is when “I” am enough.  Loneliness is when “I” am not.

In researching the subject of loneliness and solitude it is evident to me we humans are social animals. We need to spend time together to be happy and functional, and we extract a vast array of benefits from maintaining intimate relationships and associating with groups.

But I also found an emerging body of research suggesting spending time alone can be good for us — that certain tasks and thought processes are best carried out without anyone else around.  The data I have found indicates even the most socially motivated among us should regularly be taking time to ourselves if we want to have fully developed personalities, and be capable of focus and creative thinking.

Frequently as has happened before to me, I have learned a hard, but good lesson from the school of life.  It took me growing past a feeling of mostly “knowing it all” to allow the teaching to take place.  And at times that growth can come only when life has clubbed me to the point I have no choice but to give in and open up.  Growing into a sense of awe, adventure and openness to learn about life has benefited me beyond what I can logically explain.  I know I did not do it alone.  To those people who care about me who have aided my progress and growth, thank you.  To the powers beyond me that have guided my path, I am very grateful. 

True silence is the rest of the mind, and is to the spirit what sleep is to the body, nourishment and refreshment.  William Penn