Seeking Solitude

I’m sat on my own in a pub in Robin Hoods Bay, a lovely picturesque little village wrapped around an impossibly steep hill; a crowd of tiny red-roofed cottages cascading down to the unsettled sea.

I’m tucking into a tasty butter chicken curry in a room full of people. This is the only place open this evening. February is hardly the height of the tourist season, and most eateries are stubbornly closed. So, the occupants of the holiday cottages have gravitated here.

I feel somewhat self-conscious. Everyone else is a couple or a small group and I’m conspicuously on my own. There is a cacophony of conversations, but I’m typing not talking. A social spectator rather than a participant. Are they curious about me? Who’s that poor lonely guy on his own? Has he no partner, no friends?

There is a difference between solitude and loneliness. Solitude is a choice. Loneliness is not.

I have chosen to come here on my own. Deliberately. Same as last year, same village, same week, same pub. But I’m not finding solitude in this crowded room.

I am a diagnosed extrovert. Yes that’s correct. An extrovert. You know – loud, life-and-soul, popular party-goer. Incorrect. An extrovert is technically one who gets energy from interactions, conversations, being with people. That much is true of me.

But none of us is 100% extrovert or introvert. Most of us like a blend of people and privacy. We can have too much of being with others, including (maybe especially) people we like or love. Many people I coach crave for more “me time”, more privacy or solitude. Other people can be demanding – wanting our time and energy, or leaving us trying to keep up appearances to meet perceived perceptions. Like I am right now. At best it can be stressful, at worst emotionally draining.

Solitude can be hard to find. Even here, at the edge of civilisation.

Time to leave and get out of sight. A walk on the beach in the dark. The sea asks no questions. It simply offers its comforting expanse, acceptance and constancy. Like an undemanding grandfather.

I stand and look out into the darkness. There is nobody here – just black water and the eerie sound of the waves. I feel a surprising pang of loneliness.

Loneliness is when we want human interaction but can’t find it. It may be close companionship, intimacy or connection. It may be friendship. It can be at arm’s length, or in a crowd, or sat in the library.

Solitude can soon sink into loneliness. I sing along with the Rocket Man with a hint of melancholy “I miss the Earth so much. I miss my wife. It’s lonely out in space”. Earth is home, space is away. It’s hard to get the balance right between the two.

Where is our balance? Do we feel social claustrophobia at one end of the spectrum, or sad loneliness at the other? Do we feel trapped by people or handcuffed by solitude?

Hopefully we have found that happy place, where we can move between connection and solitude as we need to.

So I walk back to my cottage, ready to call home.