Reading, solitude, and reading “Solitude”
I’ve been toting around a very small book for about the past six years. It’s called “Solitude,” and it’s written by the British psychiatrist Anthony Storr. It’s probably the single best thing I’ve ever seen on the subject of solitude, creativity, and the importance of time spent alone.
I initially thought that I’d work Storr’s book into Lonely, but it never seemed to fit. And that’s because Solitude isn’t really about loneliness (though references to loneliness certainly do appear). It’s about being nourished by aloneness, about creative thinking, and about the personal flourishing that can occur despite the absence of social ties.
I don’t generally recommend books on this blog, because it’s a rare book that I think will appeal to the disparate readership this blog attracts. But I whole-heartedly recommend Solitude. (Note: in some countries, it’s called The School for Genius.) Reading Storr–as I just did, again, on this rainy morning–can take a lot of the pressure off of aloneness. It can remind you of some of the things you like about being alone, and it can reassure you that not everyone moves through life in the middle of a huge social circle.
The book won’t cure loneliness (no book does that, and don’t believe any book that tells you it will), but it makes for a fascinating read, and will help you to see aloneness in a completely new light.
This entry was posted on Wednesday, August 18th, 2010 at 3:17 pm and is filed under the category Dealing with Loneliness, Loneliness and Creativity, Social Isolation.
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6 Responses to “Reading, solitude, and reading “Solitude””
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I’m really relieved to read this. I’m the kind of person who can talk to anyone. I’m a journalist .. I’ve made a career out of it. And people are always telling me how attractive I am. But I am often desperately lonely. It often sets in around dusk. I find it hard to be alone, especially on weekends, when my usual work routines aren’t in place. I work out regularly so I know exercise isn’t the solution. Today I found myself googling things like “embracing loneliness”, because I’m pretty sure that I have to meet this terrible thing I feel, instead of constantly trying to escape it. Thank you for writing about it. It’s very helpful.
I read this book by Anthony Storr – one of my favorite books ever. I work in a psychiatric hospital and I facilitate groups in which one of my topics is embracing solitude. Many of my clients, due to their chronic mental health issues, experience chronic loneliness. Often, the hospital is the only place they feel welcomed, normal, their lives validated. I sometimes see them walking alone down the streets upon discharge watching groups of “mentally well” people with a sense of pain on their faces. I wish loneliness was in the DSM-IV. Dysthymic disorder is as close as it comes.
And Mary, I relate to you 100%. It’s like I could have wrote what you wrote. Stay strong.
I am half way through Lonely and already the landscape of my life journey has found itself knit together with one thread adjoining all of that which, until now, has seemed like an ongoing disjointed array of problems that, as always, I have yet to conquer. And “What is wrong with me??” has been replaced by a voice that inevitably falls gently onto “Well, it’s no wonder, Juli, look at what you have been dealing with for sooooooooooo long”. I find myself much gentler with myself, with a lot more space to love myself, or a sense that now I might finally be able to.
My ‘thick of it’, as far as I am learning, really stems as far back as the womb. My mother tried to abort – this is not drama gymnastics, just Juli unlpugged. My loneliness was obtusely clear from when I was born. I would not eat, I asked for nothing, I showed no joy, no anger. I came into this world completely disconnected from self AND environment, and I have been trying to find myself ever since – never knowing why I just can’t “get there from here”.
I am 44 now, and I can no longer justify why this part of my life, that is so integral to life, has not changed one iota. Not one. In fact, it is getting horribly worse, or less deniable perhaps as people’s lives around me continue to move forward in ways that mine never has. I am an artist – a fabulous justifier, or should I say jesterfier, that has always been the scapegoat when it comes to denial. I can’t even defer to that anymore.
The arrival of this book has been a very timely one – to say the least. Having heard about it on a CBC interview with Emily, I immediately lit up, and bought it the next day. I never read, and I certainly never buy books. I can’t seem to concentrate when I read – unless it’s Ekhart Tolle or something else that is pertinent to helping me.
As yet, I have not figured out how I am applying this clearer understanding of my life, to my life. It would seem that there is a lot to unravel, and what scares me in the face of this awareness, is that I may never find who I am without the monster called Lonely. A monster that is inextricably woven into my every fiber. One that has protected me, and been my longest standing companion, as well as worst enemy, as far back as I can remember. I was a despondent child from the day I was born. I have no idea how to get back to where I never was.
As far as considering embracing solitude, that concept has been an obvious, yet impossible one, for me. One that is synonymous with internet dating, and taking a group class to meet people, and “put on some candles and take a bath… you should really get out more.”. It’s like that. It feels as shameful that I can’t step into that as being lonely does. But then again, I have not read the book. Invariably, my scepticism precedes me.
Amidst the heavy and thick response to this blog post, I would like to thank Emily for lending me the space to see, giving me hope for hope, and opening my noggin to the concept that I am bloody not alone in what I live. That my symptoms arose from somewhere other than my self. That is really what I need to say. Thank you!
Juli, what a beautifully worded post. I enjoyed reading it.
Juli, juli, Juli – it does seem like we’re dealt a certain deck of cards the instant we’re conceived.
What I did early on in life is copy the conviviality of the personalities of two cousins 10 years older than I. It gets me through a lot.
Emily, I am so glad you made a distinction between solitude and loneliness. As I read your book, and saw the societal assumptions that loneliness breeds creativity, I thought, that’s wrong. Solitude breeds creativity, not loneliness. I have spent most of my life alone, and I used to crave aloneness. It was in fact when I wrote my best poetry, short stories, essays. Going for long solitary walks generated ideas that turned into writings that were then published.
But over time, when I fell into a deep depression, I also became isolated. That isolation, I now understand from your book, set me up for chronic loneliness. Once my depression healed, and I still couldn’t leave my house on weekends, my own therapist couldn’t understand what was wrong with me. A few pages into your book, I said to her, I have a diagnosis.
Loneliness has stripped me of my creativity. It’s like I’m starving to death emotionally. And just as your body is weak when deprived of food, my spirit is weak when deprived of human connections.
Solitude is indeed nourishing. Loneliness is deprivation.