As a woman, I’ve often felt guilty for my persistent pull toward solitude, which I saw as selfish. I should be able fully engage in the world as an adult and not mope off into the forest like a moody teenager.
After years of fighting it, and immediately following a chaotic week of intense communal living, I went into the woods for ten days of quiet.
A woman wandered into my camp about eight days in. She was distressed, and I was fully empathetic and present. I was astounded to find that I had space for her, instead of being overwhelmed by her noise and her emotion.
The comfort I was able to give my visitor came directly from the refreshing solitude I had allowed myself. At that moment I made a commitment to find and keep the right balance between time alone and time in the world. Not to escape from the world, but so that I can fully engage when I’m in it.
