Episode #5: On Loneliness and Solitude
How an encounter changed my perspective on being alone
I thought for several weeks about whether writing about this topic was something I truly wanted to do. And there’s a good reason behind it. Being vulnerable is uncomfortable, delving into your own emotions can hurt in ways you’d rather avoid. But I’ve come to understand that when you allow yourself to be open, others often follow, almost instinctively. That’s where the real connection happens, the kind I crave when I sit down to talk with someone.
I love being alone.
For the past six years, I’ve spent an extraordinary amount of time by myself. Whether it was for work, leisure, traveling, or running, I was alone. And honestly, I can’t remember when this became my way of life. It feels as if it’s always been like this. I’ve reached a point where I don’t even know if this was a conscious choice, a decision born from deep reflection, or if it just happened and I never pushed back, passively accepting whatever came my way.
I cherish every moment with family and friends, but after a while, I feel an undeniable pull to escape. Even if it’s just a short walk, a few minutes away from everyone else. It’s like pouring water into a glass, once it’s full, you need to empty it before you can fill it again. These moments of solitude are my way of emptying that glass. I absorb energy from being around others, but I need time alone to process it, to let it settle.
For me, being alone became a kind of home, no matter where I was. And this led me to another realization.
Being alone is addictive.
A Solitary Encounter
While wandering through the unspoiled landscapes of southern Sicily, I encountered a man who personified solitude more than anyone I’ve ever met. We were two lone worlds colliding for a fraction of a time.
I won’t share his name or his face, because in him, I saw a reflection of something universal, a part of all of us.
We exchanged only a few words, spending just an hour together. But a couple of months later, I felt the need to return, to spend more time with him, to hear more of his story. His eyes were unlike any I’d ever seen, eyes that had witnessed 26 years of solitude, a life lived entirely alone after his parents passed away. He carried on with what he knew, caring for his cows. His world was the hills that surrounded his house, a small radius of land that he knew down to every stone and tree, but ignored what was outside.
He was happy in his way, but as we talked, a quiet truth came out. Deep down, he wished he had someone to share this simple life with.
There’s a deep wisdom in elders, a kind of wisdom that feels like a glimpse into your own future. It’s like reading a book and getting to sit down with the author afterward to ask the questions sitting on your mind. Before I met him, I thought I understood loneliness, but he showed me the difference between choosing solitude and being absorbed by loneliness.
Can a life of hills, cows, and solitude be called home?
For him, it is.
Solitude can be a sanctuary, a place where we come to understand ourselves, to find peace in our own company. But it can also be a place of deep wanting, where the absence of connection becomes a real pain. In my journey with Project Home, I’ve learned that solitude and loneliness are two sides of the same coin, one chosen, the other endured. And both can teach us something important about the nature of belonging.
I’m with you, wherever you are.
Until the next one,
Much love.
F
🤯
Wow, this piece is beautiful. I’m kind of speechless at the moment.