Dr. Vivek Murthy, the former Surgeon General of the United States, once wrote that loneliness and weak social connections are associated with a reduction in life span similar to that caused by smoking fifteen cigarettes a day. When I read that line, it stayed with me for a long time. Around the same time, I began reading a book called The Art of Being Alone. I am not writing this as a review of the book, but as a reflection inspired by it. One thought kept returning to me. Why do we feel so lonely when people are not around? Why do we dislike being with ourselves so much that the time we spend alone immediately feels like loneliness?
Loneliness is a universal human emotion, yet it is deeply personal and different for each of us. Many people think loneliness simply means not having people around. But I have started to feel that loneliness is not about physical absence. It is about inner disconnection. You can be surrounded by friends, colleagues, even family, and still feel completely alone. That is perhaps the heaviest kind of loneliness, when you are present in a crowd but absent within yourself. Loneliness begins the moment you lose connection with who you truly are. When you cannot find yourself inside you, when your thoughts feel unfamiliar, when your own company feels uncomfortable, loneliness slowly makes a home in your heart.
Somewhere along the way, many of us learned to fear being alone. We associate it with rejection, failure, or emptiness. We assume that if we are alone, something must be missing. But being alone and being lonely are not the same. Loneliness feels like emptiness, while solitude feels like space. Loneliness drains your energy and makes you restless. Solitude, on the other hand, gives you room to breathe. It gives you silence not as punishment, but as comfort.
In solitude, there is no pressure to impress anyone. There are no expectations to meet and no roles to perform. There is no outside noise telling you who you should be. It becomes a quiet corner where you can sit with your thoughts and understand them more clearly. At first, that silence can feel uncomfortable. You may notice thoughts you have been avoiding, emotions you have not processed, and questions you never allowed yourself to ask. But slowly, as you stay with it, something gentle begins to happen. You start noticing yourself, your real likes and dislikes, your fears, your dreams, and the small things that bring you peace. You begin to build a quiet friendship with your own mind. And once that friendship begins, being alone no longer feels like punishment. It begins to feel like rest.
Turning loneliness into solitude does not require dramatic changes or big decisions. It often starts with very small, quiet moments in your day. It might be sitting with a cup of tea without reaching for your phone, simply feeling the warmth in your hands. It might be taking a short walk and noticing the sky above you, the movement of the trees, or the rhythm of your own breathing. It could be writing down one honest thought that stayed with you the whole day. It could be cooking something simple just for yourself, not because you have to, but because you want to care for yourself. These small acts may seem ordinary, but they slowly teach you that your own company is not something to escape from.
As you grow comfortable in solitude, something shifts inside you. You no longer chase people out of fear of being alone. You do not depend on constant noise to distract you from yourself. Instead, you begin to choose connections from a place of wholeness. Solitude does not weaken relationships. It strengthens them. When you are at peace with yourself, you stop expecting others to fill every emotional gap in your life. You meet them with love, not with need. You listen better. You understand better. You give space without feeling threatened by it.
Maybe loneliness is not an enemy that needs to be defeated. Maybe it is a gentle signal, a quiet reminder that you have drifted away from yourself. Instead of running from it, perhaps you can sit with it and ask what it is trying to teach you. Often, it is simply asking you to return, to slow down, to reconnect, to remember who you are beneath all the noise and expectations.
This reflection is only the beginning of a longer journey for me. In the coming months, I want to explore how solitude can slowly transform into a period of growth, how learning to be alone can help us grow stronger, clearer, and more intentional in our lives. But before growth comes comfort. Before transformation comes acceptance. And before we can build anything meaningful outside, we must learn to sit peacefully inside.
Perhaps the art of being alone is not about isolation at all. Perhaps it is about coming back home to yourself, gently, patiently, and without fear.
