When being alone is a choice... (personal journey)

When someone spends more time in solitude than is considered normal, then people begin to worry. What’s going on with this person? Is he doing okay? Is she depressed? And so we tell them to get out there, meet people, and connect. “Humans are social animals,” they say. Or: “Whatever you do, don’t isolate yourself. Isolating yourself is bad for you.”

But often, reasonings like these seem to fall on deaf ears. The individual in question does not want to socialize and isn’t interested in a relationship or making friends. This person just wants to be left alone. Self-imposed social isolation is a complex issue. I know it’s complex because I’ve experienced it myself. And to be honest, I’m still experiencing it to a certain degree.

You see, in my view, social isolation isn’t always imposed. In many cases, it’s also a deliberate choice: it’s an escape from the downsides of engaging with others – it’s the condition of being tuned out, of having thrown the towel in the ring, of having decided not to play, at least, for a while. I’ll admit without hesitation that such an attitude isn’t always healthy. While self-imposed social isolation is a retreat in the safe confines of one’s private space, it also denies social interactions with other people.

It’s a disentanglement from public life, a refuge in one’s mind and individual microcosm. It could leave one prone to psychological problems, resentment, warped views of what’s out there, and hateful echo chambers on the internet. Still, I believe that social isolation is understandable – it’s not just a byproduct of the Zeitgeist but also a symptom of what it means to be human.

So, why do many people choose to be alone and isolated? What are their motivations? And is there a solution to this phenomenon? This video explores social isolation and why being alone isn’t always by accident: it’s often a choice. Social isolation and loneliness are not synonymous, as these are two distinct things. One can be socially isolated but not lonely, living happily in one’s own company. But one can also be among the crowds, have many friends and other social connections, and be lonely.

That said, it’s prevalent for someone socially isolated to feel lonely due to the lack of social interaction. We could also state that ‘social isolation’ is an objective situation – although in many forms and degrees – while ‘loneliness’ is a subjective experience. Hence, some socially isolated people rarely feel loneliness, while others do. But that doesn’t mean the socially isolated people who don’t experience loneliness are without problems. They could have underlying issues that facilitate their tendency to stay away from people.

For example, there’s a mental condition named Schizoid Personality Disorder, which characterizes itself as not needing social interaction and a preference for solitude. But people suffering from this condition also lack joy and pleasure. I’ve experienced several more prolonged periods of what I’d call ‘semi-social isolation.’ I say ‘semi’ because I was never wholly excluded from social interactions. Complete social isolation is a rarity in the digital age, as we can easily interact with people on the internet, regardless of how superficial these interactions are, and that they happen digitally and not in real life.

So, when I speak of social isolation in this video, I’ll mainly refer to semi-social isolation. Also, I’ve always had a couple of friends in the background, and my four siblings, mother, stepfather, and other family members. However, there have been times when my interactions with these people were very minimal while living alone in my apartment. I wasn’t particularly interested in connecting with online strangers either.

Periods without seeing people became longer once I stopped working a regular job and began creating content full-time somewhere in 2019. And when the pestilence hit in 2020, I experienced weeks without seeing a single soul. When I look back on these times, I’ll admit that I eventually felt lonely and cut off from others, but I wasn’t always bothered by it. As everything has turned normal, I even miss those times of government-enforced isolation.

Despite the moments of loneliness, it also provided this unprecedented solace – a temporary liberation from the world. I already had some relief after I “escaped” office life. But enforced isolation brought this relief to another level, as it freed me from social obligations, such as attending parties I didn’t want to attend. The virus was a perfect excuse to avoid people altogether – canceled weddings and birthday parties, although very sad for the people concerned, quite honestly, was like music to my ears.

However, there were also days I craved social interaction as feelings of loneliness crept up on me—desire and aversion, I know. I can only imagine what Epictetus would have said had I attended his lectures, but I guess I’m human. I’m still conflicted about those times and to what degree they were beneficial to me and to what extent they were harmful. However, they taught me that social isolation is a response to a double bind.

On the one hand, it affects people’s inherent inclination toward social interaction. On the other hand, it relieves people from the same thing they’re inclined to. I craved what I enjoyed ‘not doing’ simultaneously, which was connecting with people. In addition, I felt this weird, silent solidarity with the rest of the world. Suddenly, I wasn’t the only one spending the majority of time in solitude. Through the measures imposed by the government, I now had many companions. I realized that being alone is more enjoyable when many others have a similar fate.

Nevertheless, I’ve experienced what it’s like to have minimal interaction with people and what it did to my thoughts and perceptions of the world and to my emotional states, which wasn’t always positive. But I’ve also tasted the pleasantness of not putting up with people for a prolonged time. And the joy and peace I found during the lockdown baffled me. People generally hated it. But I wouldn’t have minded if it lasted a few years longer.

So, I thought to myself: “What’s wrong with me?” The 18th-century philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer might have the answer to my question. He described the nature of human relationships as a dilemma and explained it using hedgehogs. Imagine a group of hedgehogs in the snowy winter with two choices to deal with the cold. The first option is to draw close, seeking mutual warmth in each other’s embrace. However, when they do, they also hurt one another with their sharp spikes. Hence, many of the hedgehogs choose the second option, which is to endure the cold alone.

Schopenhauer’s hedgehog dilemma effectively shows the predicament of human relations, the double bind I mentioned before. On the one hand, we crave social interaction. On the other hand, social interaction is a source of hurt; it’s probably the dominant source of trauma. And for some people, this dark side of social interaction outweighs its benefits. These people tend to retreat from social life. They prefer the coldness of aloneness over the pain that comes with spending time around people.

So, how does this dilemma relate to me, and how does it provide an answer to my question? I realized that Schopenhauer’s simile explained what I’ve been grappling with my entire adult life. When I’m honest with myself, my tendency to seek solitude isn’t just the mere preference for being alone; it’s also because the spikes, so to speak, have been hurtful too often in the past, which has been influencing my decisions throughout my adult life.

You see, even though I’m quite introverted by nature and always fared reasonably well in solitude, I used to be a social and outgoing guy in the past as well, although very often intoxicants were involved. And now, not so much anymore. Undoubtedly, getting older and the changing stages of life are factors in this, but unfortunately, these aren’t the only reasons. And I’m far from alone when it comes to a strong tendency to seek solitude due to hurtful past experiences with people.

Quite recently, while staying in Asia for a couple of months, I read Bukowski’s books Post Office and Ham on Rye, which are semi-autobiographical novels that revolve around the main character, Henry Chinaski. Chinaski often feels at odds with the world around him. He experiences a deep sense of alienation, partly because of the mundane nature of his job and his non-conformism but also because he’s not accepted and ostracized by his environment. He’s a stereotypical lone wolf. He seeks solace in alcohol, as well, to ease his past trauma but also as a social lubricant, to which I can personally relate strongly.

Bukowski is known to be a solitary figure who preferred the company of a few close friends or spending time alone, reading and writing. When asked if he hated people, he answered: “I don’t hate them… I just feel better when they’re not around.” Aside from trauma and social exclusion, there are more factors leading to people preferring solitude.

We can see a curious example of this in Japan, a country dealing with a growing population, predominantly men, who turn their backs on society and spend their lives in isolation. These people are called hikikomori, which translates to ‘social withdrawal.’ Having stayed in Japan for nearly two months not too long ago, I can imagine why Japanese people would be prone to social isolation. In my experience, Japan is a utopic place. It’s incredibly safe, very structured, beautiful, and well-organized, and everything there seems to move in near-perfect harmony, from people on the streets to public transport.

But at the same time, I’ve experienced the Japanese as very hierarchical and challenging to connect with (which could be partly because of the language barrier), and there seems to be a lot of social pressure on these people. Society expects them to participate fully by climbing the career ladder and starting families – and the opportunities to “make it” in Japan are rigid. Generally, Japanese people have to ensure they’re employed right after higher education and often work for the same employer for the rest of their lives.

Working life is harsh and intense in Japan: people work long hours, and companies expect immense loyalty and sacrifice. So, what does this have to do with social isolation? We can roughly divide the hikikomori into two groups; the first group missed their opportunity during Japan’s so-called lost decade: a time of economic downfall. These members of the so-called lost generation failed to meet societal expectations and, therefore, retreated into social isolation, partly out of shame.

The second and emerging group belongs to the younger generations. Although they have a shot to conform to societal standards, they choose to walk away from society, as they don’t want to deal with its vast demands and just want to stay away from all the bulls*** – although their motivations are probably complex and differ per individual. Most hikikomori live with their parents, while others are self-employed and can afford to live independently. They hardly or never leave their houses, and their social life is non-existent.

As human hermits, they hide – not so much from the world itself but from the people in it. Looking at the long tradition of hermits during humanity, such as the ancient Desert Fathers and Taoist sages, it seems that aloneness as a mode of living isn’t all too alien to being human. Some of us, against our supposed need for companionship, seem to fare well (and even better) in solitude.

Even the ancient Stoics, who were cosmopolitans and valued participation in public life, recognized the experience of being alone as a natural element of being human. Epictetus stated: “But one ought nonetheless to prepare oneself for this also, that is, to be able to be self-sufficient, to be able to commune with oneself; even as Zeus communes with himself, and is at peace with himself, and contemplates the character of his governance, and occupies himself with ideas appropriate to himself, so ought we also to be able to converse with ourselves, not to be in need of others, not to be at a loss for some way to spend our time.”

My moments in solitude weren’t always pleasurable. I’ve experienced loneliness and some symptoms of depression in the past. And amid the pestilence, the absence of people around me, not seeing a single soul for weeks, truly started to bother me. Nope, I am not a sage, after all. I, too, need social interaction, although it may be less than usual.

In this ocean of solitude, I was alone with myself in an unprecedented way. And even though I managed, it turned out that ‘myself’ wasn’t always good company. In solitude, one becomes prone to damaging and excessive thinking. Often, conversations with oneself become more prevalent, and the absence of people to share one’s thoughts with results in bottling up those thoughts, and in worst cases, they grow into an analytical tumor tormenting one’s mind.

We often underestimate the presence of another, someone who listens and can transform and debunk our cognitive distortions and destructive musings. Someone telling us that the world is not as terrible as we believe it is or that our thinking stems from personal biases instead of factual information. Other people lighten us up and refresh the pages of our minds.

During the long stretches of aloneness, I even started to miss my old job and my former coworkers, and I wouldn’t have minded attending a boring meeting if that meant some social interaction. Sometimes, I’d look back with nostalgia on workspace conversations, the jokes, the smiles, almost forgetting its less enjoyable facets. Unexpectedly, at least to me, I felt nostalgia for what I had escaped, so I realized that although I don’t regret my choice of working alone instead of among people, being too desolate wasn’t great either. At least, not to me.

The risks of social isolation are well documented. Extensive research links social isolation to depression and anxiety, increased stress, and lower self-esteem. There are also physical health risks, such as a weakened immune system, increased inflammation, and sleep issues. But the extent of these issues depends on one’s personality; some fare well in solitude, and others can’t stand being alone.

At the extreme end (from a societal point of view), we have hermits who choose isolation, are self-sufficient, and find great peace and contentment in solitude. In many cases, these individuals have adopted a spiritual or philosophical belief system that gives meaning to their lifestyle; for example, a Christian hermit who spends most of his time in prayer, experiencing a deep sense of connection with God, which is so fulfilling and meaningful that it renders the need for mundane social interaction obsolete.

But for most people, such a lifestyle probably isn’t ideal or desired. Yet, many of these people still seek solitude for various reasons and need social interaction. Is there a solution for them? From my experience, exploring the motivations why I seek solitude so much has been helpful. For me, these motivations are multifaceted. Solitude allows me to do creative work and introspection, for example, which I regard as positive. But could there be negative, fear-based reasons, such as hiding from people, social anxiety, shame, guilt, and painful past experiences?

I’d be lying if I said I only have positive motivations. Unfortunately, I don’t. Schopenhauer had an idea to tackle his hedgehog dilemma as he sought to socialize in a way that minimizes both the cold and the painful spikes. What he came up with is interesting. He proposed that to avoid the pain of human interaction and the loneliness of social isolation, we should engage in “politeness and good manners,” which allows us to interact with people but keep them at a distance.

Of course, as Schopenhauer admitted, this approach has one big problem: the need for “mutual warmth” will not be adequately satisfied. So, what’s left? Should we take the risk of getting hurt? Of being stuck with people that suck the life out of us? Of being overwhelmed by too much chatter that doesn’t amount to anything? Or worse, of being bullied and abused? Well, what helped me was being selective and creative.

As far as possible, I became more selective in my interactions and the people I spent time with and tried to spend more time in good company. I also examined possibilities for social interaction, such as travel. In fact, after the summer of ‘22, when the pestilence was as good as gone, and international travel was possible again without too much hassle, I hopped on a high-speed train and, a week later, on a plane.

After almost three years of solitude, I returned to the world: a refreshing journey of exploration, working in coffee shops, and connecting with local people. Spending time out there and meeting people was good; the joy of it I had forgotten, so it seemed. Even though social interactions generally deplete my energy, they also rejuvenate me: often but not always, things start to flow again, mentally and physically, after a period of emotional and cognitive constipation.

One of the benefits of my work as a content creator is that no location chains me. So, why not use this feature to get social interaction in ways I like? But not anyone has the possibility to travel. What helps me at home is working in places like libraries and coffee shops and using the internet for social interaction with friends through occasional online gaming; Age of Empires IV, to be precise.

The latter is not a full substitute for real-life interactions but does involve social interaction. So, is there a solution to social isolation? There are plenty. And the most straightforward approach is just to “get out there” and meet people. But social isolation is a complex issue; there are many reasons why people avoid social interaction and spend the majority of their lives in solitude.

There’s probably no one-size-fits-all solution, as every case of chronic solitude is unique; every loner has a different story. Some crave social interaction, but their trauma and anxiety hold them back. For others, minimal social interaction suffices, and Schopenhauer’s advice isn’t such a bad idea for them. And then we have the hermits in heart and soul, for whom solitude is the ideal mode of living. Without question, there are many shades of grey in between.

And, as with everything, one’s need for both solitude and social interaction changes over time. It’s not entirely clear where I fall on the loner spectrum right now. I could need more interaction than I believe. Or maybe not. Anyway, I hope this video resonates. So, what’s your story? Do you spend much time alone? And why is that? Let us know in the comment section. Thank you for watching.