I was 11 days into a solo run across southern Utah, in the most remote section of the trip. During the day, with the nearest town over 60 miles away, it was often an hour or more between passing cars. For a four-day stretch, I had no phone service, listened to no music or podcasts, and talked to no one. Yet, the deeper my solitude grew, the more connected and fulfilled I felt.
When is the last time you were alone? Truly alone? When your only companion was your mind and the big wild world around you? Without access to social media, texting, or the internet?
It's difficult to be alone. We've become habituated to a hyper-connected society, a security blanket of constant connection and resources. Our capacity for isolation has begun to atrophy. But there's an entire world of experience available to you if you're only willing to move beyond the hesitation and discomfort.
The biggest fear of extended solitude is the realization that you have no one to fall back on. There's a sense that if something unforeseen happens, you'll have to figure it out completely alone. And for the most part, this is accurate. It's true that being alone is typically harder, mentally and physically, especially the first couple of times. Ten years before my run across Utah, I went on another big trip alone, a month-long bike ride along the southern United States. Mentally, it was very difficult. Being in a constantly changing environment, with only loosely held directions and no familiarity with the route, created a constant level of underlying stress. I was worried about traffic. I was worried about where I would sleep. I was worried about weird strangers, and leaving my bike alone while grocery shopping.
The first time you get a flat tire in the middle of nowhere, or have to camp in a strange place, you'd be hard pressed to call it fun. But with repetition comes adaptation. Being alone heightens your sensitivity to these stressors, which, in turn, accelerates the growth of your confidence and capabilities. And once you begin to push beyond your comfort zone, you realize just how much of the world is out there to explore.
After the initial discomfort, you begin to notice a deep complementarity within solitude. While it is harder, in many ways, it's also easier. It's implied, but often overlooked, that when you are alone, you don't have to consider other people when you make your decisions. You can eat when you want, stop wherever looks interesting, and pursue any side paths without worry of communal agreement.
This goes beyond the routine details. We are creatures tuned towards consensus, dependent on others for feedback and direction with every decision we make. While this typically keeps us as a safe and well-functioning member of society, it can easily dampen our unique inner spirit.
Without the influence of others, you have the opportunity to unearth your unrealized desires. What do you actually want? We're rarely afforded the time to think about this deeply, and it's even rarer that we have the space to act on these revelations at a fundamental level. It's a clarifying state of existence, stripped back from the distraction and influence that we are so often bombarded by. From artistic inspiration to personal motivation, solitude is often the spark to push you to a new level.
Last year I had a personal project to visit a local garden every week, to better understand the transitory nature of a single place. The only rule was that I had to sit in one place for at least an hour, alone. Imagine your external senses like a radio tuner. Our innate connection with the natural world around us has become a faint signal, easily obscured by noise and interference. If you want to better tune in to your surroundings, you must remove distractions.
Have you ever gone on a hike with a friend and talked the entire time? Now go on the same hike alone. Do you hear all the birds? Do you see the way the wind sets the forest dancing? Do you feel the tingling unease when you forget what turn to make next? For me, it takes a couple days alone before I can sink into this increased awareness. But once you find it, an unbounded richness springs forth from every direction.
The funny thing about being alone is that it's often hard to stay alone. While solitude may be the initial goal, it can often lead you in surprising directions. Years ago I worked on a documentary project while walking the Camino de Santiago. The Camino is a roughly 490-mile pilgrimage across Spain that hosts over 400,000 hikers every year. The goal of the documentary was to interact with many of these people, learning about their lives and what brought them to the Camino. But one thing became readily apparent. People are hesitant to open up to a group. Self-consciousness is hard to avoid when you're surrounded by strangers, but one-on-one, these barriers quickly erode.
There's a shared intimacy that is unearthed when two strangers connect through a chance encounter. I've seen it over and over on my trips. When camping alone, your neighbors are more likely to strike up conversation. When eating alone, waiters are more friendly and engaging. When traveling alone, you quickly meet other travelers on a similar journey and build easier rapport with the locals. During those five weeks in Spain, the most rewarding conversations I had weren't among my friends. Instead, it was when I was hiking by myself, and just happened to meet another solo walker, that the most interesting and intimate conversations naturally arose.
Solitude leads to serendipity. And serendipity is what creates memorable experiences. The moments of difficulty contrasted by effortless ease. An awakening awareness, to both the environment around you and the worlds within. Leaving external influence behind, only to gain a surprise intimacy in return. Let your curiosity direct your solitude, and be open to the direction you find yourself unconsciously heading. You just might like what you find.