September 6In Solitude
I think a little solitude every day is good for me. In the quiet I see my faults, and try to mend them; but, deary me, I don't get on at all. I used to imagine my mind a room in confusion, and I was to put it in order; so I swept out useless thoughts and dusted foolish fancies away, and furnished it with good resolutions and began again. But cobwebs get in. I'm not a good housekeeper, and never get my room in nice order.
Louisa May Alcott—Her Life, Letters, and Journals (1889)
Who has time to sit, alone, in a room, with only their thoughts? And, as long as we're being honest, let's also admit this—it's scary as hell. (Why do you think solitary confinement is considered a harsh punishment?)
Silence is disquieting because society has deemed it abnormal, and our brain knows this. Our subconscious brain in particular feels the loss of control in solitude and cues up a tantrum.
But once you absorb all the silent shouting in extended moments of solitude, you just might slip into a place where the pulsing discontent we all feel in our versions of the entrepreneurial storm begins to quiet.
A moment of solitude here and again is great, but the nature of solitude required for repair lies somewhere between Walden and a weekend retreat.
An hour might feel like too much, but after a while an entire day will feel too short. We need attachment and detachment alike, but you just might become more self-reliant, and you won't care what people think about your need for ...
Become an O’Reilly member and get unlimited access to this title plus top books and audiobooks from O’Reilly and nearly 200 top publishers, thousands of courses curated by job role, 150+ live events each month,
and much more.
Read now
Unlock full access