We're a gregarious
species and want to be with others, especially at certain times. When
in labor. When hearing a grim diagnosis from a doctor. During a
heart attack. At the moment of death. Encountering a grizzly. When
fighting hypothermia.
We want
companionship during less dramatic moments, too, like when we
celebrate accomplishments or count desert stars on a summer night.
But, whoa! We start equating alone with bad. The desire to be with
others pushes aside another natural yearning—to find solitude.
We believe, for
instance, that people should not be alone on holidays, so generous
people try to include others in their celebrations. We can hardly
imagine that a stressed person may prefer to sleep till noon on a day
off, stay in pajamas, and eat a frozen dinner.
Our uneasiness with
silence keeps us connected to radios and headphones. We lose our
ability to enjoy a purple and orange sunset if we are by ourselves.
In its extreme form, people become terrified of being alone.
In crowded places
in the world, finding space apart is difficult. Here in the American
West, it doesn't take us long to find an isolated spot where we can
hike, think, and pray. Time after time, I find that when I give
solitude the same respect that I give togetherness, I'm rewarded with
a renewed spirit.
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