The lone wise one, from the caves at Ajanta, India
I increasingly apply a sliding scale to assess most situations. It is one way of skirting the tendency in contemporary dialogue to Manichaean, black and white with nothing in between, either/or thinking. This is similar to how Asperger’s Syndrome is now being evaluated—you can have a little of it, or you can have a lot, and the range can be quite dramatic. This is very different from the old virginity test—you either are or you aren’t. Fewer and fewer things in life are that determinable.
A good example is solitude. I have written many times here about how solitude feeds, nourishes and enriches my artistic practice. For some of us it is a luxury to have the space and time to be alone. My time alone in the studio is life sustaining.
But the spectrum on solitude is broad. Even for some artists and writers, the time one must spend alone working is just too demanding.
From a recent piece in the Wall Street Journal by Terry Teachout, The Playwright’s Dilemma:
You’ve probably never thought about it before unless you happen to write for a living, but professional writers are doomed to spend most of their waking hours sitting by themselves at a desk, staring at a blank computer screen and waiting for lightning to strike. It’s a lonely business, which explains why a few authors choose to collaborate instead of flying solo. Moss Hart, who wrote his best plays in partnership with George S. Kaufman, explained his decision to write with a partner in “Act One,” his 1959 autobiography: “The hardest part of writing by far is the seeming exclusion from all humankind while work is under way, for the writer at work cannot be gregariousā¦. Collaboration cuts this loneliness in half. When one is at a low point of discouragement, the very presence in the room of another human being, even though he too may be sunk in the same state of gloom, very often gives that dash of valor to the spirit that allows confidence to return and work to resume.”
Then there is the span of issues that exist well beyond the domain of art making. At one end are the monks who engage in isolated retreats that can last for years, achieving a heightened mental state that can now be documented with neurofeedback. At the other end is the nightmare of forced solitary confinement for incarcerated individuals. Atul Gawande‘s Hellhole, published in the New Yorker a few years back, tracks the long history of research into isolation from Harry Harlow‘s infamous studies of monkeys denied their mothers to the profound damage suffered by inmates placed in supermaxes for prolonged periods. Gawande also outlines the loss of mental functioning that all humans experience when there is no human contact. “Human beings are social creatures. We are social not just in the trivial sense that we like company, and not just in the obvious sense that we each depend on others. We are social in a more elemental way: simply to exist as a normal human being requires interaction with other people.”
As Paul Tillich said, “Language… has created the word ‘loneliness’ to express the pain of being alone. And it has created the word “solitude” to express the glory of being alone.”
So what does this spectrum of solitude really mean about us and what is optimal for humans? Some culture critics have claimed that society has veered into a solitude-denying state of hyperconnectivity through the Facebook/Twitter/Google+/LinkedIn/texting portal and it is negatively affecting the way we think, interact and live. Too soon to tell? Who knows. But I don’t think the lesson here is just that old saw about a need for moderation. Seems to me there is much more to this story. Like so many things in our culture that can now be had in frightening excess quickly, too much or too little of solitude or sociality is an ongoing—and daily—balancing act.
The subject of creatives’ desire and need for solitude, and how and when creation becomes an act of paying attention and responding to something either internal or external, is fascinating.
The Tillich quote expresses well the difference between loneliness and solitude. It does not mention, though, the word “choice”, which has to be exercised to make the latter possible when it is solitude that is desired.
I’ve had to write under some awful conditions: a desk in a common area, near a receptionist’s desk, water fountain, and communal kitchen. I learned then how I could block out everything around me to get the necessary writing and editing done. Both writing, once the first draft is done, and editing require some eventual collaboration, and I agree the collaboration can be exciting, especially when it leads to improvement. Now I work at home, writing for long stretches at a time in solitude, which I desire and cherish. But I also like being able to join poets on Twitter for poetry jams once a month, and sometimes manage to get a new poem out of the tweets. There’s energy in those jams and it usually comes from collaborating with an unseen poet or two whose lines, in addition to the prompts, I work off, even as all the other participants lines are flying by.
I recall well reading the Gwande piece, thinking at the time that solitary is a form of torture. Being alone, when being alone is not desired, is not the equivalent of being in solitary confinement in a prison, however.
Maureen, Managing how this plays in one’s work life is so personal and so particular. And what works for one doesn’t work for another. I don’t have the longing for collaboration for example but there are other ways I get my hit of human contact. And it seems that the target keeps moving. What worked well when I was younger isn’t as serviceable to me now. You have to calibrate it every day.
Thanks for sharing your stories. I appreciated you laying out how these parts of yourself come together.
Your thoughts hit a nerve with me Deborah. I am perfectly content to spend long days in isolation in the studio (wish I had the option to be there far more often), but often find time spent with others satisfying. I fear being lonely, but enjoy being alone. I find that in recent years, in order to keep hold of the solitary creative space in my life, I have to be vigilant against all the intrusions…….. Always balancing, always changing.
Thank you for that thoughtful post. Solitude is something I think a lot about since I feel I don’t get enough of it. I think each person needs a different amount to be truly healthy (that is a sliding scale definitely). When I accepted that I might need a certain amount it made a big difference in my respect for myself. I get irritated without some solitude to think and now that I can identify that I can forego exposing others to the irritability.
Tamar, I was interested to read that you have a similar sense of balancing the studio alone time with other needs for connection. Thanks for your comment.
Brenda, I have a friend I have traveled with extensively over the last 20 years. At some point she figured out that we did much better being together for 2-3 weeks at a time if she just left me alone for a few hours every day. I didn’t have to take the initiative and say to her, I need some alone time, which could sound hurtful. She just insisted. And it made all the difference.
One of the things I love about blogging is that you are alone together. Whatever I write will get a quicker dialogue going than anything I’d write either for a private journal or publication. I don’t like the long, dragged-out isolated writing of long stories for publication, which is why I now write flash fiction with the option to send out to journals or not. I sort of don’t care. As a psychotherapist, my work days involve constant human contact at a deep level. I notice that between sessions, maybe five to ten minutes at best, my colleagues and dictating clinical notes. I find, when the patient leaves, I need those few minutes for total solitude, distraction to different subjects like the NY Times, or just taking a walk to the cafeteria for coffee. I would never be able to concentrate on the sessions if I did not have these breather moments, to forget the previous patient and allow my mind to become a clean slate for the next. It means I spend extra time at home catching up on dictating charts, but it’s so worth it. I absolutely need that balance.
So good to hear from you QS! And thank you for sharing your practice. I once read a book written by the then CEO of P&G who said he used to work without breaks. A consultant then pointed out to him how much more productive the mind can be if it has those hourly breaks, even if they only last 5 minutes. So he changed his style and said it made a huge difference in his endurance, productivity and output.
I love my friends, I love visiting NYC, but I adore getting home to the quiet solitude of my home. I get cranky if I’m too busy, and love seeing a calendar with a week of no social or other obligations. But then there’s the internet: the blogging and facebook and emails. It allows me to feel connected while being alone, which I cherish.
Good post! Š¢hank you.
http://cifrobyte.com/
[…] Scaling Solitude […]