Solitude

“What (you might ask yourself) would a solitude be that didn’t have some greatness to it? For there is only one solitude, and it is large and not easy to bear. It comes almost all the time when you’d gladly exchange it for any togetherness, however banal and cheap; exchange it for the appearance of however strong a conformity with the ordinary, with the least worthy. But perhaps that is precisely the time when solitude ripens; its ripening can be painful as the growth of a boy and sad like the beginning of spring… What is needed is only this: solitude, great inner solitude. Going within and meeting no one else for hours — that is what one must learn to attain. To be solitary as one was as a child. As the grown-ups were moving about, preoccupied with things that seemed big and important because the grown-ups appeared so busy and because you couldn’t understand what they were doing.”

~Rainer Maria Rilke

Solitude, love, and creation were the frequent subjects of Austrian Poet Rainer Maria Rilke. 

The preceding passage was shared with me by my sister recently, as we have been discussing the difference between loneliness and a chosen solitude. In loneliness, there seems to be an undercurrent of desperation and a predisposition of fostering a victim mentality, whereas a choice of solitude can be made from a position of power and self-confidence, and is imbued with a noble grace. 

I suppose these could be the inevitable musings of a man that has been through three divorces, and is turning 58 years old later in the week. Perhaps we say to ourselves whatever we must in order to endure. But, I do feel as though I enjoy my own company more than ever before in life. (Convenient—since half the people in my life don’t want to talk to me anymore.) 

I grew up in a large family, the youngest of five kids. There was always a hustle and bustle to our home. I always loved the sounds of other people being in the house, and I never much liked being alone as a kid. That stuck with me until quite recently, frankly. I have always sought out the company of others. It is only recently that I have truly found peace in solitude.

As Rilke has pointed out, solitude is also a necessary component of creativity. I have never been quite so comfortable and confident as I am now with my creativity—whether it be in music, writing, or some other pursuit. This has also been a long and sometimes painful journey. I am grateful that I can peacefully sit with my creations these days, and enjoy them.

But what of the final piece of Rilke’s triptych of solitude, creativity, and love?

I tend to think that I’m only now approaching the understanding of what love might actually mean. I certainly think I misidentified it in the past. Whatever life may still hold for me in this area, I’m sure it will be different from what I’ve experienced in the past, and that it will be infused with ideas of solitude and creativity. Something more of a respectful coexistence than the merging of souls I idealized as a young man. What I used to think of as being head-over-heels in love seems to have more in common with mental illness as I approach sexagenarian status. 

There is a quote attributed to David Bowie that mentions that aging is the most incredible opportunity to become the person you should’ve always been. 

I like that, and I like the person I’m becoming. So it took almost 60 years, that’s OK. And yes, people have been hurt along the way, and I regret that—but I also really know in the depths of my soul that this is how we learn. This is why we’re here— to learn, to get to know ourselves, to achieve the joy of being with ourselves in peaceful solitude.

—Scott